


love is a battle, love is a war

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a skeptic. This is something everyone who knows him well knows. When Molly comes to him with a story about how in three weeks she's going to disappear to a fairy realm he thinks she might just have lost her mind. But as he learns more about her destiny and discovers his role in it all, he begins to believe that she's telling the truth and maybe, just maybe, he can save her from her fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I asked on Tumblr for Sherlock prompts of a supernatural nature and I completely misread one of them and ended up writing the first two pages of this story before I realized that. I'm going to try my best to finish this one by Halloween but no guarantees. But I promise I'll try! Title quote comes from James Baldwin.

There were a few things that were constant in his life. He found the most stimulating challenges excited him and the less stimulating ones bored him to tears. He could be rude and abrasive and a real prat to the people who annoyed him but to the few he chose to call friends he could be more normal. He was not someone you wanted to cross if you knew what was good for you. And most importantly he was, when it came to things deemed supernatural, a skeptic. It went all the way from ghosts and vampires and things that went bump in the night to all the many facets of religion that promised miracles. He had the brain of a scientist and if it wasn't something he could categorize and rationalize and study then he didn't believe it. Everyone who knew him knew that. It wasn't as though it was something he took great pains to hide. And that was all the more reason why he was so surprised Molly had come to him with this obvious fairy tale, asking for his help.

“Molly, you don't seriously think that you've been targeted by an elf who wants to take you to an underground kingdom, do you?” he asked, his jaw hanging down and his eyes slightly wide. If anyone else would understand the way he thought it was Molly. She was deeply involved with science and logic and all the trappings of a rational mind. Yes, she was a romantic, he understood that much, but she'd never been prone to flights of fancy.

She sighed and hung her head for a moment, and then lifted it up. “Forget I said anything, Sherlock,” she said. Then she stood. “Just in case I can't figure out a way to get out of it, just know I...” she trailed off. “I'll miss you, all right? And I'm sorry I bothered you.” With that, she turned to leave.

“Wait a moment,” he said, getting off of the chair he'd been sitting in. She had looked so resigned. She looked like she'd actually given up hope that there was a way out of the fantasy she'd conjured up in her head, that she really truly believed the fantasy was real and there was no escape. It bothered him to see her like that, even if he felt she'd be better off talking to a professional of some sort. “Is there a way to prove your story to me? Without a shadow of a doubt?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Other than the mark I got I only have the stories that were passed down through the older women in the village I grew up in.”

“What mark?” he asked. She hesitated for a moment, then with a deep red blush she began to unbutton the top few buttons of her shirt. His eyes widened even more as she did that. Molly was probably one of the shiest people he had ever met, and though she could occasionally wear less clothing than he was used to seeing her in, like she had at the Christmas party all that time ago, she was still more comfortable when she was covered up. She got the shirt unbuttoned part of the way down her chest and then she pulled it to the side. He got closer and saw the edge of her bra, which was white and lacy, but that wasn't what drew his attention. “That isn't a tattoo,” he said after a moment, looking up at her. Her cheeks had become even redder now that he had moved closer.

“No, it's not,” she said, pulling her shirt closed again when he straightened up. She began rebuttoning her shirt. “In each generation one woman from my village suddenly bears this mark the first day in October the year she turns thirty-five. It's always on the same spot: on her left breast, directly over her heart. It's always the same, of a crescent moon with a horseshoe inside of it and a vine of thorns wound around the moon with a rose on the tip. When it appears it feels as though it's been burned into her skin and it appears like it's a brand, like someone pressed it to her skin with a hot iron. And then she only has thirty days to take care of her affairs before she's taken away.”

He thought back to the Christmas party. With the low cut dress she had been wearing that evening he would have been able to see something like that. It wasn't a small mark, not by any means, and she never would have worn an outfit like that if she’d had it then because it would have embarrassed her to have to explain a mark like that. It was much like a brand marking her as someone's property, and that could have only led to awkward questions. Most likely awkward questions from him, because he would have noticed that. “You didn't have that before.”

“As I said, it only happens the year they turn thirty-five. My thirty-fifth birthday was a few months ago. I had hoped it would happen to someone else, anyone else, but no such luck.” She finished getting her shirt buttoned up again. “I know it seems completely mental. The story is ludicrous, I understand that, and yet it's happened every generation going back hundreds of years. With the start of every new generation the old women start telling all the women from the village the tale, and they pass it on to the daughters they bear. I had hoped it was poppycock, that it was just a way for the old biddies to frighten us into submission, but now I have to believe it because I'm next.” She looked up at him. “I don't want to go, Sherlock. I'm asking for your help because you're the smartest man I know. If anyone can figure out a way to get me out of it it would be you.”

“I wouldn't know where to start,” he said quietly. “I don't even believe what you're saying is real, aside from the mark, and there are other ways it could happen.” He paused when he saw the dejected look on her face. She believed this story to the very core of her being. “But you are one of my friends. You helped me before, with my fall and with recuperating afterward. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now and I'll see what I can do, even though I fully expect come November first you'll still be here.”

Her eyes widened. “So you'll help me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said with a nod.

She threw herself at him, embracing him so suddenly that for a moment he was at a loss for what to do, and in the end he awkwardly embraced her back. “Thank you so much, Sherlock. Just...thank you.”

“You can let me go now,” he said.

“Oh, right,” she replied, letting him go. “I suppose I shouldn't have done that.”

“It's all right,” he said. He fixed his shirt and suit jacket. “It's already the tenth. I suppose the first thing we should do is go back to the village where you're from and learn as much as we can about what is supposedly going to happen. If there's any way to stop it that would be where I would begin, at any rate.”

“Well, I can go now, and stay as long as we need to,” she replied. “I went on sabbatical yesterday. I know people would ask where I was when I didn't come back in three weeks, and it was easier to just leave now than stay until the very end.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Deep down you must not believe I'm going to find a way to get you out of your supposed predicament.”

“To be honest I'd thought you were going to say I was a complete nutter and I should be committed,” she said. “You actually saying you're going to help gives me hope.”

“Well, when November first rolls around and you're still here I'll just take satisfaction in the fact I was right.” He looked over at her. “It's early in the morning. What village did you come from?”

“Earls Barton,” she said.

“Huh. I’d have guessed a different one,” he said, slightly surprised. “It’s best known for its shoemakers, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “The film ‘Kinky Boots’ was inspired by something that actually happened in my village.” She paused. “The story about the mark has to do with shoes, actually.”

“What is the story?” he asked.

She nodded towards the seat where he’d been sitting. He took that as his cue to sit back down, and when he was settled she began to pace slightly. “The village has always been known for its shoes, even a long time ago. There was a shoemaker in the village named Samuel Schoemaker—”

“That’s an original name,” he scoffed.

“If you interrupt me again I’ll be cross,” Molly said, glaring at him. He looked up at her and then closed his mouth, nodding for her to continue the story. “Anyway, he was a good shoemaker, but he wasn’t making ends meet. One day he was down to his last few pieces of leather, enough to make one shoe. He couldn’t think of a shoe to make, though, and he left the leather pieces on his worktable overnight. When he came back there was a pair of finished leather boots of the highest quality. A rich man came in to get his shoes repaired and when he saw them he bought them immediately. That gave Samuel enough money for three more pairs of shoes.”

“Wait a moment,” Sherlock said, raising his hand. “That sounds suspiciously like ‘The Elves and the Shoemaker.’ But that’s just a fairy tale.”

“Grimm’s Fairy Tales were written in the 1800s. This happened a hundred years earlier,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Sherlock, will you let me finish the story?”

“Carry on,” he said.

“So it continued. He would buy leather and leave it out, three shoes at a time, and in the morning there would be three wonderful shoes. But not only were they beautiful, they were also magical. The wearer had good luck. Now, Samuel never saw who made the shoes, but he knew he could never wear a pair of them made by whatever was making them because he already had good luck. Anyway, he had three beautiful daughters. The elder two had been married off with modest dowries, and there was a significant age difference between the middle daughter and the youngest. His youngest daughter could afford to marry better than her sisters because her dowry was more substantial.”

“What has this got to do with the magical shoes?” Sherlock asked.

She looked at him and then sighed. “Forget it. Just…forget it.” She went over to grab her handbag. “I’ll sort this out on my own.”

“Molly, wait,” he said, getting up out of his chair. He quickly moved in her path and after a moment’s hesitation placed his hands on her shoulders when she tried to step around him. “It was a logical question. What does the dowry have to do with the shoes?”

“Because he got the money from his luck,” she said. “And when his luck ran out, so did the money.”

“How did his luck run out?” he asked.

“He wore a pair of the magical shoes to his youngest daughter’s wedding,” she replied. “The next morning he woke up and there were no new shoes, just leather. His riches were gone, too. Since his youngest daughter had been married off and the dowry had been handed over her husband was furious that the money had disappeared. It was a full moon that evening and her eldest sister went to a fairy ring and pleaded with the supernatural creatures to restore her father’s wealth and her sister’s dowry. The king of the fair folk told her they would, but only if she came to live in the fairy realm. She agreed, and he said on Samhain they would return for her. She told no one what was happening except her youngest sister, who she loved more dearly than anything else, even her own children.”

“What happened next?” he asked.

“When the eldest sister went to go turn herself over to the fair folk her sister interrupted them and said to take someone else from the village, anyone else. The eldest sister tried to tell her it was a horrible thing to make such a rash and selfish request, but the king of the fair folk said he could arrange that. He would take someone from the village in the eldest sister’s place, someone who had lived their life, having had five and thirty years on this earth, and they would know they were chosen by the mark on their breast. And this would continue every generation until the debt was repaid.” She looked up at him. “Every woman who has gotten the mark has been taken, without fail. Even those who left the village have come back to be taken away. Sherlock, I don’t want to leave. Thirty-five years isn’t long enough.”

He looked down at her. She looked as though she was going to panic. He didn’t know if he knew how to handle her panicking. Molly was strong, one of the strongest women he knew. But all of this had terrified her. She legitimately thought that three weeks from now she would disappear and no one would ever see her again. He didn’t know how to convince her that she was mistaken. But at the moment he could afford to indulge her. He had no cases, nothing tethering him to London. Nothing but time on his hands. If he needed to go to a small village to convince Molly it was all in her head he would, because she was his friend.

He paused at that. She was his friend, but if he wanted to be honest she was more important to him than any of his other friends except John. He didn’t quite know what to make of it. He might fancy her, possibly, but he’d be a wretched boyfriend. He’d had to force himself to be a convincing boyfriend to Janine, and he’d had ulterior motives in that case. He didn’t think he’d have to force himself to be that way with Molly, but there was no point. It would ruin their friendship if he attempted to have more than that with her. He would hurt her, and he didn’t want to do that. But he also realized he would hurt her if he kept scoffing at her story and she wouldn’t let him help her. If there was even a kernel of truth to this story, which he sincerely doubted, he would regret it if she simply disappeared. “I’ll make sure you’re still here November 1st,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” she replied. After a moment she leaned in and hesitantly kissed his cheek, and when she pulled away he saw she was blushing again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

“It’s all right, Molly,” he said. “Let me gather up some things while you go home and get your own things. Do you still have a vehicle?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod.

“Then you’ll drive us. It only takes about an hour and a half to get there, correct?” She nodded again. “Then we’ll drive there and I’ll see what I can do.”

“All right,” she said. She put her handbag on her shoulder and then moved towards the door, pausing when she was at the top of the stairs. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?” he asked.

“If you can’t save me, I’m thankful you’re trying. I know you don’t believe me, not really, but…thank you for trying. It means a lot.” Before he could reply, though, she made her way down the stairs and out the front door of his home. He looked at where she had been, and then decided it didn’t do to dwell on her last words. Come November 1st she’d be there, safe and sound, and they could put all of this behind them. It would work out that way. It had to because he honestly didn’t want to not have her in his life. And if that meant chasing after a supposed fairy? Then so be it.


	2. Chapter 2

Two and a half hours after she had come to Sherlock's home the two of them were pulling up to a cottage in Earls Barton. It was a small place, probably two bedrooms, possibly three. There were no near neighbors and it looked well maintained. Molly parked her car outside the home and got out. “This isn’t an inn,” Sherlock said as he got out after her.

“It’s my childhood home,” she said, going towards the car boot. “I didn’t have the heart to sell it so I’ve kept it since my mum and dad died.”

He remembered that she had said her father had died, but he hadn’t known about her mother. “How long ago?” he asked.

“Ten years ago for Dad, nine years for Mum,” she said, opening the car boot up. She pulled out her luggage, and after a moment he did the same. “She left me the house because my sister wanted nothing to do with it. Emily keeps encouraging me to sell it, but I’ve refused. I guess she’ll get to do whatever she wants to do with it if I disappear in three weeks.”

Sherlock remained quiet for a moment. He had the feeling that unless he started acting like he believed her she’d keep talking like she wasn’t going to be on this earth much longer. It was incredibly jarring to hear her so hopeless. She was the type who always had hope. He’d learned that much living with her after he had fallen off the hospital roof. Her hope had rubbed off on him and he’d kept it close while he was on his mission. Hearing her without that hope was beyond depressing. “Molly…” he began.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I just…I know you don’t believe me. I know you’re only humoring me because you want me to feel better. I just really wish you did, that's all.” She shut the lid of the car boot and pulled up the handle on her suitcase. “We might as well go inside.”

He nodded and they made their way to the door. She looked through her keys until she found the right one, and then she unlocked the door and let them in. He began studying it the minute they walked in. It was a very lived in place, and it looked as though it was well maintained, but there were no photos on the walls or mantles or bookcases, and very few items of any significance. What there were a lot of, however, were books. “I didn’t realize you had so many books,” he said.

“I don’t,” she said quietly, a frown on her face. She put her keys on the low bookshelf by the door and then went to the table in the sitting room, where there were a stack of old books. She picked one up. “These aren’t mine.”

He moved into the room as well, picking up the one that had been next to hers. “Fairy folklore,” he murmured.

Molly groaned. “Damn. I told him not to say anything,” she said as she shut her eyes.

“Told who not to say something?” he asked, confused.

“Arthur Silverton,” she replied. “He’s the caretaker I hired for this place. I should have known better than to tell him yes, I was thirty-five.” She set the book down and pinched the bridge of her nose. “If he knows the whole village knows. I don’t want to be pitied.”

“Well, someone wants you to read these,” he said, opening the book. It was an old book, and while he was not an appraiser of any sort he realized it must be at least a hundred years old. It had been well taken care of, at any rate. The pages were yellowed but intact. He flipped through the book some more, then flipped to the very front. There was a folded note in it, and it was definitely new. The paper was lined as though it was a piece of stationary, and it wasn’t yellowed at all. He pulled the note out and opened it. “Did you tell anyone I was coming with you?”

“I said I might be bringing company, but I didn’t say it was you,” she said, lowering her hand. “Why?”

He held up the note. “It’s addressed to Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “Or rather, my full name.”

“You mean they actually addressed you as William?” she asked, surprised. She moved over to his side and studied the note. “’William Sherlock Scott Holmes, these are for you to read. If anyone can save Molly from her fate it’s you.’”

“There are, at most, six people in the world who know my full name, because my brother has kept my real name hidden for many years,” he said slowly. “I’m related to three of them, two of them have named a child after me and then there’s you.” He turned the note over and then back, looking at it again. “There are no other clues.”

“Who would leave the note and these books, though?” she asked.

“Someone else who believes this story,” he murmured.

“Sherlock, the whole village believes this story. It could be anyone,” she pointed out.

“We’re going to find out. How far would you say it would be to walk back to the main part of village?”

“About a half hour?” she said after some thought. “I’m on the outskirts of the village. My parents liked the solitude.”

“I think it’s a good idea to get a late breakfast. Or an early lunch. And answers on top of that.”

“What are you going to do, Sherlock?” she asked.

“I’m a consulting detective. I’m going to do what I’m best at: be a detective.” He made his way to the door and paused. “Are you coming with me?”

“I suppose it’s best if I’m there to buffer your interactions with everyone,” she said with a sigh as she made her way to the door as well, picking up her keys as she went by the bookshelf. He stepped outside and she joined him after a minute, locking the door behind her. “You know, we _can_ drive there.”

“I do my best thinking when I’m moving,” he said, stuffing his hands inside his coat pocket. “And when I’m in a car I’m just sitting.” He nodded towards the road. “Left or right?”

“Left,” she said, pulling her coat tighter around her. “And don’t walk so fast that I can’t keep up, Sherlock. You do have that tendency.”

“Very well,” he said with a sigh. “It’s going to take us more than a half hour to get there, then.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’ve got shorter legs,” she said sourly.

He stopped and looked over at her. “I didn’t mean to put you in a foul mood, Molly. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” she said with a nod after a moment.

They began moving again, and he purposefully kept his pace sedate. “Does anyone in the village know we’re friends?” he asked.

“Most of the village knows I’ve worked with you, but I don’t think anyone knows we’re friends,” she said. “They just assume I do your autopsies and nothing more.”

“Then how would they know you were bringing me?” he asked.

“Maybe they assumed because I knew you I'd ask for your help, like I actually did,” she replied. “I mean, there's always other explanations, but if you don't believe my story I doubt you'd believe the only other explanation I can come up with.”

“And just what would that be?” he asked curiously.

“There is a family that came here from Ireland, the Sheehy family,” she said. “They arrived under mysterious circumstances and made their home on the very edge of the village at some point in the 1800s. It was always believed the women in the family had special powers, and each generation had one son and one daughter. The rumor was the male was to carry on the family name and the female was to carry on the line of magical powers. The women never married, but the sons did, and their daughter had the Sight. There were always only three generations of women with the Sight alive at the same time, and it never mattered what family they were married into. If you were a woman and your last name was Sheehy you had the Sight.”

“The Sight?” Sherlock asked incredulously. “Like they could see the future?”

“Yes,” she said.

“That's bollocks.”

She sighed. “I told you you wouldn't believe me.”

“All right. For the sake of argument, let's say I do. How would they know about me specifically?” he asked.

“Well, about three generations back, the female Sheehy daughter, Caroline, decided she would break family tradition and marry after her brother Robert had had his son and daughter. Within a year Caroline and her husband were dead, but not before she had a daughter she named Isabella. Robert raised Isabella, his son James and his daughter Catherine together. Robert didn't believe in the Sight or any supernatural nonsense, and when Catherine and Isabella began showing signs that they had it he would beat them senseless until they denied they had powers. But there was no one to show them what to do so when Catherine was sixteen and Isabella was fourteen they ran away to learn more about their powers.”

“Molly, the point?” he asked.

“You wanted the story, let me tell the story,” she snapped, stopping in her tracks.

He blinked and then stopped as well. “What?”

“Stop interrupting me. It's a long story and the whole thing is complicated.” She glared at him when he opened his mouth to say something, and then when he shut it she began walking again. “Isabella came back pregnant and alone when she was twenty-six. By that point her uncle and cousin were both dead, having been killed in an automobile accident. James hadn't had children, and whenever anyone asked Isabella about Catherine all she said was she was gone. Anyway, Isabella gave birth to a daughter she named Catherine, after her cousin. And she was the firstborn woman in my mother's generation. My mother was the last woman to be born in that generation. Thirty-five years after Catherine was born everyone waited to see if she got the mark, but when October 1st came she didn't have the mark. Thirty days later, however, she was gone. Everyone assumed she ran away, but when my mother turned thirty-five and she didn't get the mark the entire village realized Catherine was taken by the fair folk.”

“And so you think the second Catherine's mother has the Sight, and she wants me to help save you because...?” he asked slowly before trailing off.

“How should I know?” Molly asked, getting irritated as she turned away from him. “Maybe she's upset and wants her revenge. Maybe it's some other reason. All I know is that if there was anyone in the village who would have the books and know about you coming with me it would be Isabella Sheehy.”

She was walking quite a bit faster than she had before and he found he actually had to walk quickly to keep up. Molly was getting quite irritated with him, and that was unlike her. She normally had the patience of a saint when it came to him. And then it dawned on him: the fact he didn't believe her was already starting to frustrate her. And it was only going to get worse as the weeks wore on because he knew logically there was no way that what she was telling him could be true. But he had to fake it. He had to at least pretend that this wasn't all utter tripe because she would make him leave and if for some reason she decided not to come back on the 1st of November it would all be his fault. “Let's talk to her first,” he said.

“Then we don't need to go to the village,” she said, stopping abruptly. “The Sheehy cottage is our closest neighbor, and Isabella never leaves her home. She has everything she needs delivered to her.”

“Then lead the way,” he said. She turned in the other direction and they began to walk that way, the pace much slower than before. “Do you know her well?”

Molly nodded. “I did, before I went to London for university. My mother was friendly with Catherine, and she continued to visit Isabella after Catherine disappeared. She would take me with her quite often. Isabella isn't as spooky as the children in the village made her out to be.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?” he asked.

She tilted her head slightly as she thought. “Two years ago? There was a problem with something at my family's cottage and I had to come check things out and make decisions, and I paid her a visit.” She paused. “Come to think of it, she seemed very interested in my life in London when we spoke. Who my friends were, things like that. She was quite surprised about Tom, actually. That we were engaged.”

He bit his tongue about Tom. He had never really approved of the man, to be honest, because he saw Tom for what he was: a pale imitation of himself. He had told himself that really, Molly could do much better. She deserved better, at any rate. And he would always push back the niggling thoughts that she would be happiest with him because that would take their relationship in a direction he didn't want it to go in. Not because he didn't want Molly to be happy, but because he was fairly sure he would muck everything up and then he'd lose her friendship. It was simpler to just let things stay as they were. “Why?” he asked finally.

“I don't know,” she said. “I wasn't a very attractive girl growing up, and I didn't have many boys fancy me while I was here. The few that did usually had their head turned by someone prettier or funnier or better and they forgot all about me. She could have remembered that.”

“You are pretty, you know,” he said quietly, and she looked at him in surprise. “You just dress to shield yourself most of the time. When you don't you're quite attractive.”

“I think I'll take that as a compliment,” she said, giving him the first smile he'd seen on her face since they left London. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

He nodded, feeling a bit awkward for a moment. It was a few minutes before he spoke again. “Do you think she'll speak to us?” he asked finally.

“Maybe. I would have rung her up to see if we were welcome but she doesn't have a phone.”

“How do the people in the village know what she needs?” he asked.

“When I was here three years ago I saw she needed some help, so I asked her if it was all right if Arthur came around to check on her once a week, get her the things she needed. I pay him a bit extra each month to do that for me. I feel better knowing she's not out here all alone. And Arthur likes her, I think. He didn't balk at the idea like some others in the village might have.”

“If you're doing this kindness for her then she might be inclined to see us,” he said.

“Well, don't interrogate her,” she said. “She's a kind _old_ woman. You can't be abrasive with her because I don't want you to trigger any health problems she might have. Be polite, and at least try to pretend like you don't think she's crazy.”

He nodded, and they lapsed into silence as they walked. Eight minutes later Molly turned towards a small dirt path towards a small cottage. It looked as though in the summer it would have a robust vegetable garden, and he could see many herbs planted near the front of it. And it appeared as though Isabella took care of the plants herself, as she was outside with a metal watering can, tending to her plants. “Is that her?” he asked Molly quietly.

“Yes,” she said with a nod. Then she raised her hand to wave. “Isabella!” she called out.

Isabella paused in what she was doing and turned to them. For an old woman she appeared quite fit. There was no hunched back or signs she was infirm. She gave Molly a small smile that quickly became larger when she glimpsed him. “I see you brought company with you,” she said as they got closer.

“Yes,” Molly replied. “Isabella, this is--”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” she said with a nod. “I know who he is.”

He blinked slightly. “And just how do you know my real name?” he asked.

“Let's just say research,” she said. “I don't think you'd believe the actual explanation, at least not yet.” She looked him up and down and then turned to Molly. “Molly, dear, I need to speak to your friend in private for a bit. Could you finish watering the herb garden for me?”

“All right,” Molly said slowly, her tone slightly unsure. Isabella handed her the watering can and then nodded to Sherlock. “Remember what I said, Sherlock,” she called after the two of them as they headed into the cottage.

“She's a very sweet girl but I'm not as frail and fragile as she thinks,” Isabella said as they got to the door of her cottage. “I don't have any health problems you might trigger by being abrasive.”

“How did you know she said that to me?” he asked, surprised. “We weren't anywhere near you.”

“I know more about you than you can possibly imagine, William,” she said as she opened the door.

“I don't answer to that name,” he said.

“Yes, because true names have power, and you don't like giving power to people,” she said as she stepped inside. He followed her. “You like having a bit of mystery surrounding you, which isn't an altogether bad thing, but in this situation you will find there's more power available to you if you go by your real name.”

“I don't believe that,” he said as she shut the door behind them.

“I know. You're a skeptic. You have the brain of a scientist, and the heart of one, too. Anything that smacks of the supernatural rubs you the wrong way. You don't like not having answers for things.” She made her way into her kitchen. “Molly is your friend, but there is quite a bit about you that she doesn't know, and it's not my place to tell her. So I thought we could chat in private as I convince you that in this particular case you need to believe in things that don't make any logical sense.”

“And just how are you going to do that?” he asked curiously.

She began to pull things down for tea. “I'm going to reveal secrets. Things you've buried, things your family has buried. Things that only someone with the last name Holmes would know. Things you haven't even told John Watson because you like having them buried deep down.”

He wasn't surprised that she knew who John was. Everyone in England knew they were close. If this was the start of her attempting to convince him that all this nonsense about the supernatural was true she was off to a bad start. “Such as?”

“Your feelings towards Molly are quite complicated, aren't they? To the world at large, and especially to Molly, you maintain that you are friendly, nothing more. But you care for her in a way you don't want to admit. And you're afraid of those feelings. You don't want to ruin the friendship you have with her even though you know she would like more and even though _you_ would like more. And those feelings are the reason you will be able to save her.”

He scoffed slightly but he could feel himself warm slightly. If she could guess Molly probably could as well. He needed to get better at keeping that under wraps. “Anyone who is extremely good at reading people could make a stab in the dark at something like that and hit the mark. I may be good at masking things but I'm not perfect.”

“So you do care for her as more than a friend, and those feelings are quite strong,” she said with a satisfied smile. “Good.”

“If you have this Sight there's got to be something else you know about me. Some deep, dark secret I'll take to my grave,” he said just a bit snidely, crossing his arms.

“Such as the fact your brother Thomas is currently in an insane asylum, perhaps?” she asked simply. “And you think he's more dangerous than James Moriarty?”

His eyes widened. If there were now seven people in the world who knew his full name aside from himself there were only three others who knew about Thomas and none who knew his thoughts on the matter, the one fear he kept to himself. “You couldn't have possibly known that,” he said quietly.

“He tried to smother you when you were six. And your parents didn't believe you. They thought you were overreacting. And then he hurt you and left marks and they couldn't ignore it.” She filled her kettle with water. “You have a four inch scar on your chest where he slashed you with a knife, right over your heart. You have another scar, three inches long, where he slashed you in the abdomen. You have a two inch scar on your thigh where he stabbed you, trying to hit an artery. You also have a one inch scar at the top of your hairline where he hit you with a porcelain vase so you would stop fighting back. They were all bigger when you were a child, of course, and they're less noticeable these days, but those are the sizes they are now. And if anyone sees these scars you tell then you got them practicing knife play for a case.”

“Only my family knows that,” he said quietly.

“It's a dark Holmes family secret. I didn't think it was something Molly would need to know unless you chose to tell her.” She pulled down a canister of tea from a shelf once she put the kettle on her stove. “But you're curious as to why I said you think he's more dangerous than Moriarty.”

“Yes,” he said with a nod.

“Both men hate you, but while Moriarty would rather toy with you and play a great game your brother, if he ever escaped, would find a way to finish what he tried to do twenty-nine years ago, and he would do it singular determination. He wouldn't play elaborate games that you have a chance of beating. He'd hunt you down and execute you. And that's why you think he's more dangerous than Moriarty.” She finally turned to look at him. “When it comes to you, William, I know your entire life story, up to a point. Your past I know well, and I have vague knowledge of what will happen up until Samhain, but after that your future is split in two. I've never had that happen with a single person I've used my Sight on except Molly. Even those marked by the fair folk's king I have seen only one ending for. I can see their entire life from birth to when they're taken. But you two are a mystery.”

He was actually quite stunned. There were ways she could have gotten the knowledge about what his brother had done; as good as he and his family were at keeping that particular secret there was always the chance someone could have figured it out, though why they would have told her and not sold the information to one of the tabloids he didn't understand. And if she knew that it might have been easy to infer that his brother hated him; after all, why would Thomas have attempted to murder him if he didn't? But no one, not one single soul, knew his fear that if Thomas escaped his brother would hunt him down and kill him. It wasn't all that irrational of a fear but he knew if he shared it with someone outside the family there would be questions and if he told Mycroft or his parents they would accuse him of overreacting. “But it can't be possible. The Sight,” he finally said. “It's not real.”

“William, you have a logical mind. Do I look like the type of woman who has enough money to hire someone to uncover your darkest family secret? And how would I have guessed that your greatest fear is that your brother will succeed in murdering you? Think _logically_ ,” she said.

He ran it through his head, every single way he could see her learning that information juxtaposed with the life she lead here. He ran through every motivation she would have of learning that secret with what the general perception of his and Molly's relationship was. He ran through every cold reading skill he knew to see if it was possible she had simply done that to him. And time and again he kept hitting a wall. “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” he murmured. 

“So now do you see?” she asked with a smile. “There is no way I could have discovered your secrets without tremendous wealth, which I obviously do not have. I would have no need to discover your secrets because most people view yourself and Molly as acquaintances, not friends, and while some might guess you would help most people would assume you would turn her away for feeding you such a fancy story. You wear a mask that keeps your darkest thoughts and deepest fears hidden, meaning a normal person would simply assume you would leave her to her fate and that would be all they would know about you because of that mask. And yet I was able to lift the mask without ever having met you and saw everything, and the only way I could do that was with magic, with the Sight.”

He shook his head. “For now I will accept you have some sort of special skill, but the rest I don't understand. What makes me so special? How can I help Molly through...this...if I don't believe the fair folk exist? Because while you've convinced me you have a gift of some sort which allows you to do the most accurate cold read I have ever seen performed before I _still_ don't believe that fair folk exist and Molly is going to be spirited away from this world on Halloween.”

“And _that_ is what those books delivered to Molly's home are for. You will find much of the lore to be incredulous but believe me when I say it is all true. These are the books I collected when I attempted to learn to control my powers.” She paused for a moment. “My cousin let herself be led Underhill so I could get the books we needed to stop the curse. Molly's mother helped until I used my sight on Molly and I saw she had two futures. Then her mother got ill and died soon afterward and I didn't have the heart to make Molly learn everything while knowing she was going to be chosen. That mistake is mine to bear. I believe with some warning she would have been better prepared for what is to come.”

“And what is to come?” Sherlock asked.

“A battle, at the very least. Possibly a war. Sides are being chosen Underhill as we speak, and you had best hope that there's a side that favors you and Molly or else you _will_ lose her on Samhain. Read all those books, glean as much knowledge from them as you can and use that knowledge to your advantage. This feels different once again. In my daughter's generation there was no mark, but that instance was personal. I believe I was being punished for my mother's rebellion. This time, with Molly, also feels different. Things are gearing up for a showdown of some sort on the future of this village, of whether the curse will continue. Learn about all the gods and goddesses of the isles, the fairy lore, anything at all that you can store in your mind palace and sort through to give you an upper hand. You will need as much knowledge as you can and hopefully you can attract some fair folk to assist you.”

He remained quiet for a moment as he thought. There was no way it could be true. No way whatsoever. And yet Isabella believed it as much as Molly, and he was fairly sure if he talked to the villagers they would all believe in it too, each and every one of them. “And what happens if I don't believe?”

“Then Molly gets taken and the curse continues, probably for as long as there is a village standing,” she said. “And you will be sad and miserable for the rest of your life because you let something precious slip through your fingers.”

“And if I do?”

“The curse ends, and you and Molly have a long life together.” She paused. “I know you think if you were to have that type of relationship with her it would end badly, that it would end because of you,” she said gently. “It doesn't, though. If you do believe in the stories and you do save her you are truly happy, for the first time in your entire adult life, and you do everything you can to make sure she's happy as well. When I say you have a long life, I do mean long. You're both old and grey when my vision ends.”

“She wants me to believe,” he said quietly.

“Her life depends on it,” Isabella replied. She was quiet for a moment. “I have something that I think might help.”

“All right,” he replied with a nod. Isabella left the room and he tried to corral his thoughts. He wanted to believe that there could be a future in which he did have a romantic relationship with Molly and that he was happy, but to get that he would need to believe in something that was nothing more than a story told to scare a child, and he didn't think he would be able to. It rubbed against his nature so much that he knew it would take actual, physical evidence to convince him otherwise, something he could touch and see, something he could study, and he sincerely doubted anyone had that.

She returned a few minutes later with an amulet, and then she stood in front of him, holding it in her palm. It was a small amulet, with each phase of the moon etched on a circle of silver, and a language he didn't recognize inscribed around the edges. “This is from the fair folk. It had belonged to my mother and should have been passed to Catherine when she was old enough to escape her bastard of a father. It allows you to speak to one of the fair folk. It will only work once, and you only get three questions, but if you wear it you will be visited and you can see with your own two eyes they exist. You don't know when you will be visited or who you will see, however. But you _will_ be visited.” She handed it to him and he took it warily. “Put it on.”

He looked at her, and then slowly put the amulet on. It had felt cold in his hand but once he tucked it in under his shirt it felt warm against his skin. “And all I do is wait?”

She nodded. “Yes. Just keep your eyes open, and someone will come.” Her kettle began to boil and she went to it. “I think it's time to bring Molly inside, don't you? Go fetch her while I prepare the tea.”

He moved away from where he had been standing and made his way back to the door. He was confused at the entire conversation, and he absolutely hated being confused. It was the worst state for him to be in. But for now he would simply have to suffer through it until he could rationalize everything and come up with logical explanations for the things they had talked about. It was going to be the only way he could cope with this entire situation. He just hoped he didn't push Molly away before he was able to convince her that everything was going to be fine.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly and Sherlock had walked back to her home in near silence nearly an hour after they had arrived at Isabella's home. He could tell Molly had questions but truthfully he didn't want to answer them. He didn't want to talk about the conversation with Isabella at all, to be perfectly honest. The less time he spent thinking about Thomas and what had happened when he was a child and the bone deep fear he had of his older brother the better. Having it all brought up to the forefront had left him unsettled and he didn't like that feeling. Molly stayed quiet until they were nearly back to her home. “Sherlock?” she asked tentatively.

He sighed. “I don't want to talk about my conversation with Isabella,” he said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“She brought up something I generally do not like thinking about, much less discussing,” he said. “And I want to forget it was brought up so please, let the matter drop.”

“All right,” she said quietly.

He glanced at her face and saw she look rebuked. He kept hurting her even when he didn't intend to. This was why it would be a good idea if he just ignored any more than friendly feelings he might have towards her. He would do her absolutely no good, and nothing anyone could say would convince him otherwise. The more he thought about it, though, the more he realized that maybe if he could trust anyone with the details of that conversation it would be Molly. Finally he spoke. “There are only five people alive who know what I'm about to tell you who you could conceivably have a conversation with about it. One other person knows, but he's locked up in an asylum and I hope he never leaves the place.”

“Does this have to do with your conversation with Isabella?” she asked, looking at him with surprise.

He nodded. “Yes. And it's the only reason I'm willing to suspend disbelief that Isabella might be...different. She had me logically plot out every way she could possibly know this information, and there was no way she could have known otherwise unless there was something different about her.” He took a deep breath. “Mycroft is not my only brother. He is still the oldest, and I'm the youngest, but we have a brother named Thomas as well. He...” He paused, not sure how to continue. Damn it, this was harder to talk about than he had thought it would be. “When I was six, Thomas attempted to murder me. Twice. The first time he failed because he thought someone was coming. The second time was because I managed to fight back long enough for someone to hear a commotion.”

Her eyes were wide. “Oh my God,” she said, stopping in her tracks. “That's horrible.”

“Isabella knew this. Up until today no one outside of the five members of my family knew what happened. My family has kept my middle brother a secret for years, to the extent that even under close examination most people believe Mycroft and I are the only children born to my parents. But she knew about Thomas. She knew what happened both times he tried to kill me, she knew about the scars and she knew that my greatest fear is he'll escape from the asylum and hunt me down and finish the job. Not even my family knows that last part.”

“Why did he try and kill you?” she asked.

“No one knows. He was only a year younger than Mycroft, and Mycroft is ten years older than I am. From a very young age he refused to leave the home, refused to interact with our family. My parents believed he was troubled but harmless. They did what they do best when it came to him.”

“And what is that?” she asked.

“They ignored him. They never tried to get him help because they didn't want to be blamed for his problems, and so he stayed at our home and was a recluse. Mycroft says if you add up the amount of time he and Thomas have spent in the same room together it averages out to about a year and a half, and that's being generous. When I was born he refused to have anything to do with any of us. I only remember seeing him twice in my entire life, actually, and both times he was trying to kill me.” He was quiet for a moment. “He came into my bedroom and tried to smother me the first time. My dog came into the room just as I was starting to lose consciousness and he panicked and left. I tried to tell my parents a stranger tried to kill me but they refused to believe me.”

She looked absolutely horrified. “And the second time?” she asked, her hands over her mouth.

“I was playing in the sitting room. I didn't realize he was there until I stood up and turned. He had a knife in his hands, and he stabbed me in the thigh, trying to hit my femoral artery. He missed, and when he pulled the knife out he slashed at me. I kept trying to defend myself and finally he took one of my mother's vases and bashed me in the head with it. I fell to the floor and he stood over me ready to stab me and that was the last thing I remembered until I woke up in my bed with bandages on my chest, abdomen and thigh.”

“What stopped him?” she asked.

“My father heard the skirmish and thought there was an intruder. He came into the room and hit him in the head with a pistol, apparently. I lost a lot of blood, and my mother tended to me while my father arranged for Thomas to be taken somewhere far away from all of us. To be honest, my family wasn't sure I would actually pull through because I lost so much blood. But if I had died they probably would have called it a tragic accident and then promptly forgotten about me too.” He put his hands in his coat pockets. “As it stands, though, Thomas is locked up somewhere in another country. I don't know where and frankly I'm not sure I want to know. He's there under a false name and is kept in a constant drugged state because he's considered a danger to himself and others. There is nothing connecting him to our family that I know of.”

“That's absolutely horrible,” she replied.

“I didn't know the full details until I was in my late teens because my mind blocked out the trauma of what had happened. I had always assumed that there was, in fact, an intruder. I only found out when Mycroft came home and drank too much one evening after a row with our parents. He was rambling and he didn't seem to realize I didn't know the full story until it was too late. That was what tipped my occasional drug habit into becoming a full blown addiction. But even when I was forced to go into rehab I kept quiet about the truth. It wasn't hard to convince me to keep that secret and add my own lies about how I got the scars I still bear.” He shrugged slightly. “The bare bones of that story is what Isabella and I talked about. As I said, only the five of us in my family knew the whole story and all of us other than Thomas had all vowed to take the secret to our graves. That was why I had to concede that Isabella has some special skills, because she doesn't have the resources to discover what my family has done a brilliant job of burying.”

She looked at him for a moment. “Why are you telling me, then?”

“Because I trust you, and because you deserve to know why I will probably be in a pensive mood all evening. I try my best not to think about it because it brings up bad memories and deep fears, but I didn't have a choice today.”

“Does John know?”

He shook his head. “No, and if I have my way he never will. Mycroft and my parents might be absolutely livid with me because I told you, but you've kept a secret of mine before that was more important than this one. I trust you to keep this secret as well.”

She was quiet for a moment, and then she moved to embrace him, slipping her arms around his waist. He hesitated briefly and then pulled his hands out of his pockets and embraced her back, resting his chin on top of her head. He didn't expect to feel better after explaining the whole story, but surprisingly he did. Molly was doing what his family should have done all those years ago. She was giving him comfort and strength, and he appreciated that more than she would ever realize. Finally she let go and pulled away, looking up at him. “I promise I'll keep your secret.”

“Thank you,” he said with a nod. “If it's all right, I want to take a walk. Have some time to myself to process things.”

She nodded. “Out towards the back of our property there's a path to a pond I used to go to all the time when I was younger and wanted a peaceful place to think. I'll show you where it is when we get back to my home and then I'll leave you in peace. Would you like something to eat when you get back?”

“I might. I skipped breakfast this morning, though I've gone without meals all day before.”

“I refuse to let you do that while you're here. I'll make something that we can reheat whenever it is you turn back up.” She nodded towards her home, which he could see from where they were standing. “Let me show you where the path is.”

He nodded and they began walking the short distance to get back to her home. Once they got on her property she led him around to the back of the cottage and pointed out where the path was before turning around and letting herself in through the back door. He watched her enter the cottage before he turned and began walking down the path. He wasn't really paying attention to his surroundings, using the barest amount of attention to make sure he didn't veer off the path. Twenty minutes later he found himself at a large pond surrounded by trees. He could see someone had put a handcrafted wooden bench near the edge of it, and he made his way over and sat down on it, trying to sort out his thoughts.

When he felt the amulet Isabella had given him grow warm he started to pull away from his thoughts. There was no reason for it to get warmer; it was actually colder outside than it had been in her cottage, and it had felt fairly cool against his skin since he had put it on. When he heard the giggle his attention snapped into focus. He had heard Molly giggle nervously before and it didn't sound anything like what he had just heard. This sounded much more childlike. He stood up and looked around, seeing no one. He had his back to the pond and was just turning around when he was splashed with water. He looked down at his now wet trousers and then looked in the direction that the splash had come from. And in the pond was a young girl with pale skin, green hair and green eyes. She was at the edge of the pond, her body immersed in the water and her arms crossed on the shore. He stared for a moment, then rubbed his eyes. She was still there. “I'm hallucinating,” he murmured.

“No, you're not,” she said with an impish grin.

“I could be. Isabella gave me tea I didn't recognize,” he said in response. Then he chided himself. Now he was talking to hallucinations? He must be losing his mind.

“If you were hallucinating why are your trousers wet?” she asked. 

“Perhaps I stepped in the pond while I was lost in thought,” he said, and he realized he was grasping at straws now.

“Hallucinations can't do this!” And with that she pulled her hands off the shore and put them into the water, sending another wave of water towards him. This time he moved out of the way and most of the water landed on the ground. He stared at the wet grass and then looked back at her and saw she was pouting. “You're no fun.”

“No one has ever accused me of being fun before,” he said.

“Well, if I can make you smile then I'll consider you fun. And I bet I can make you smile.” She pushed away from the edge of the pond and began to tread water. “My queen sent me to find you. You have the amulet and I'm supposed to answer three questions for you.”

His eyes widened slightly and he reached up for the chain of the amulet. He pulled it out from under his shirt and fingered it slightly, then knelt down next to the pond. “This amulet?” he asked.

She nodded and then tilted her head. “I should count that as one of your questions, because you did ask me if it was that amulet. But I want to play a better game. You can ask me as many questions as you like, as long as you answer one each for me in return. Since the chosen human left here many years ago I don't have much company.”

“Molly has seen you?” he asked.

She shook her head before coming back to the edge of the pond. “No, but she used to read the most lovely stories out loud. I heard so many of them and for many years it's been just me. None of the woodland spirits come this way, even though there's trees and grass and flowers. They don't think it's _proper_ to associate with a water spirit.” Then she smiled. “My turn! What's your favorite story?”

“Treasure Island,” he said after thinking for a moment. “I've been fascinated by pirates since I was a young boy.”

“What's a pirate?” she asked.

“If I answer, then I get two questions before I have to answer again,” he said.

“Oh, you're crafty,” she said with a laugh. “All right.”

“A pirate was someone who had command of a ship, and they sailed on the sea and fought other pirates and the various navies of the world. They stole treasure and buried it on deserted islands and they roamed all the seas in the world. Some were very famous, and some were not as important.”

“Why would you like someone who did mean things?” she asked.

He gave her a slight smile. “You seem to be asking all the questions here.”

“Fine,” she said with a sigh.

“If you give me a third one in a row I'll answer the last one before I ask mine.”

“All right,” she said with a smile.

“Most pirates had a code of honor. I admired that. Even though they did bad things, they were loyal to their crew unless their crew was disloyal to them.” He looked down at her. “My turn to ask questions. What type of fair folk are you?”

“I'm a water spirit,” she said. “There are all sorts of water spirits all over the place you call the United Kingdom. Mermaids and mermen, kelpies, nuckelavees, merrows...those are the important ones. And then there are ones like me, who aren't as important. Anywhere there's a body of water generally there are a water spirit or two. My pond is small so I'm the only one here.”

“What do you know about the women who get taken on Samhain?” he asked.

“They are all humans who the king has decided he wants as his own. Someone made a bargain with him and he decided he was owed a woman every new generation. My queen doesn't like that, but she protects the women when he's done with them. With us fair folk she's kind and loving, unless you anger her. Then she's quite frightening, moreso than the king.”

“And she sent you here today?”

She nodded. “She told the woodland spirits to leave you be, but if you came to my pond I was to talk to you. She made the amulet you wear and gave it to the Sheehy family when they were in the country you call Ireland. She told me if I could get you to agree to a game I could answer as many questions as you wanted even though the amulet is only supposed to call one of us for three questions. She likes you.”

“She likes me?” he asked, surprised.

“It's my turn to ask a question!” she said with a pout.

“Of course,” he said.

“Do you love the human who he's going to take?”

He was quiet. “I care for her a great deal,” he said finally.

“My queen thought you loved her,” she said with a sigh.

“Maybe your queen can ask me herself,” he suggested.

“Maybe. She's only allowed in the village two days every generation, though. She has a party that all the female fair folk here are invited to, the day before a new human gets taken, and then she's by her husband's side when he takes his human. If you find her maybe she can see for sure.” Then she grinned. “Your turn!”

“Someone told me there is a battle brewing. Possibly a war, and that I won't succeed in saving Molly unless someone decides they are on my side. Is there anyone who is?”

She thought for a moment. “My queen might be. She doesn't like her husband taking the humans. But she wants me to talk to you before she makes a decision. If she thinks you stand a chance at beating him she'll help you. But you have to prove yourself first.”

“How?” he asked.

“Now who's asking all the questions?” she said in a teasing voice.

“Well, ask yours first, then,” he said.

“What are you willing to do to protect the human?”

He was quiet for a moment, and he could sense that this was probably the most important question either of them had asked so far. He chose his words carefully. “I would give up my own life to protect her,” he said finally. And it was no less than the truth; if it came down to either him or Molly going back to London when this was all over he'd prefer if it was Molly. The world needed more people like her and less people like him.

The water spirit gave him a wide smile. “I think my queen will like that answer. But only if it's the truth.”

“It is very much the truth,” he said.

“Then I'll answer your question. The woman who has the Sight has books. She has special books that her cousin bargained with the king for. My queen slipped in a book that would help the person who would defeat her husband, but she can't say which one. But only a special person will be able to read it. To everyone else it looks like gibberish. If you can read that book then she'll know you are the person to end the curse. You'll find her, or she'll find you, and she'll know.”

“If she's only here one day before Molly gets taken that doesn't leave me much time to find out if I could read the book,” he pointed out.

“She's powerful. She's more powerful than a mere water spirit like me. She'll make sure you find her if she wants you to.” She looked away from him and lifted her face towards the sky, shutting her eyes, as though she was listening to something on the wind. After a few moments she looked back at him. “My queen says I can ask one more question and I can answer one more question. Then I have to go give her your answers.”

“All right.”

“Can I kiss you?” she asked.

He blinked. “You want to kiss me,” he said slowly.

She nodded. “I've never kissed a human before.”

He thought about it for a moment. If he wanted definitive physical proof that she existed getting a kiss from her would certainly provide it. “All right,” he said with a nod. “You can kiss me.”

She gave him a wide smile and then pulled herself out of the pond. She was merely the size of a young child, maybe six years old. She walked up to him and put a hand on either side of his face. Her hands felt cool but were surprisingly dry, and she definitely felt very real. Then she leaned in and kissed his lips softly. He let her but he didn't kiss her back, and when she pulled away her smile was even wider. “My queen will like that, too.”

He wanted to ask her what exactly her queen would like but he refrained. He had one last question and he didn't want to waste it. Finally he spoke. “What is something your queen would want me to know most of all?” he asked.

She put her face towards the sky again and after a moment laughed heartily. “Oh, you really are as smart as she hoped! She said that you seem to be the man she was hoping for. Find the book and she'll know for sure. If you are, she'll arm you well to protect the human.” Then she began to walk backwards to the pond. “I hope you find the book and can read it. I like the human. And I like you, too.”

He gave her a slightly wider smile. “I suppose that's a good thing.”

“And I even got you to smile!” She gave him a wide grin and then waved. “Goodbye, William!” And with that she turned and did a graceful dive into her pond.

He stood up and watched the pond, looking to see if there was a ripple or if she emerged on the other side, but there was nothing. He touched his lips lightly and then turned and made his way down the path back to the cottage. He went to the back door and found it was unlocked, and he opened the door and let himself in. “Molly?” he called out.

“In the kitchen,” she called back. He made his way there and saw she was standing over her stove, stirring a pot. “I thought you would be gone longer,” she said before she turned to look at him. Then she frowned. He must not look the way he usually did for her to be concerned. He worried just what might have happened to him when he let the water spirit kiss him. “Are you all right? You look a little bewildered.”

He relaxed slightly. At least it wasn't something physically different about him that had caught her attention. “I think I might believe you,” he said quietly.

Her eyes widened. “What happened to change your mind?”

“I may have had an interesting conversation with someone who lives in your pond,” he said.

“You actually _saw_ one of the fair folk?” she asked in a surprised tone of voice.

He nodded. “Yes. I think I need to start going through all those books as soon as possible. There is a book in particular I need to find.”

“Of course,” she said. “If you want to start now I'll bring you some soup when it's done.”

“That might be best,” he replied.

“Sherlock, if you actually believe me, there's a chance you can stop this from happening,” she said, and he could hear hope in her voice for the first time since she had come to his home.

“I will try my best,” he said. She gave him a wide smile and he gave her a slight grin back. “There are fifty books for me to read. I need to start now.”

“Absolutely. I'll try my best not to interrupt you.” He made his way towards the sitting room and was almost there when she spoke again. “Thank you, Sherlock. For doing this.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said. She turned back to the soup and he made his way over to the books. There were a lot of books to go through and not much time to go through them. And with that thought in his head he picked up a book and sat down in what looked like the most comfortable chair in her sitting room before opening up the book and beginning to read it. If he had any hope of actually helping Molly, the sooner he started the better.


	4. Chapter 4

He had started to read the books around twelve forty-five that afternoon. There were at least fifty books, and while some of them were thin volumes the majority of them were thick, heavy tomes filled with text and illustrations. By the time it was ten he had only gone through two of the books, and he continued to read even when Molly bid him a good night. She had been intuitive enough to know he would probably stay awake long into the night and had told him where she had put her coffee, and at some point around eleven he lifted himself up from the chair and made his way into the kitchen. He'd had many sleepless nights before, but he knew his limits. He had at best four more hours before the words began to jumble together and he would stop being able to comprehend what he was seeing, five if he had some coffee. Then he would need to rest for at least four hours.

He went to her coffeemaker and began to set it up. Without any warning he felt the amulet that was resting against his chest become warmer than it had been since he spoke to the water spirit earlier in the day, and so he stopped moving. He had the sinking suspicion he was going to get paid another visit by something that wanted his attention. “If you want to speak to me may I at least finish preparing the coffee?” he voiced out to the room at large. “I have quite a bit of reading to do tonight before I sleep.”

“Of course,” he heard a masculine voice say. “But I ask for a bowl of milk and bread to dip into it.”

He looked around but didn't see anyone. “And where do you want me to set it?” he asked.

“By the hearth. But attend to your business first.”

Sherlock finished starting the coffee and then looked around Molly's kitchen for a bowl. He found a small one that was shallow, and he went to the refrigerator and got the milk out, filling the bowl halfway up. Then he went to the cutting board that was on the counter and pulled over the loaf of bread Molly had made earlier in the day, cutting off a thick slice. Apparently when she was nervous she baked, and he assumed whoever it was that wanted the bread and milk would appreciate the more recently baked bread than the bread the caretaker had left here for them that had come from the market. He put the piece of bread on a small plate and brought both bits of food over to the hearth, setting them down before going back to his seat and waiting for his guest.

After a moment a small creature that resembled a short older adult male approached the heart. He had pointed ears that were triangular in shape, a short white beard and wispy white hairs on top of its head. His skin looked roughened, as though he did hard work. He looked at the hearth, then at Sherlock. “You should stoke up the fire,” he said. “It gets quite cold here.”

“I wasn't paying attention to it,” Sherlock replied. “But I'll put more wood on, if you want.”

The creature nodded. “I would appreciate it.” Sherlock stood up again and then went to the wood nearby the hearth. He selected the largest piece and then put it on the embers, careful not to disturb the food on the hearth. The creature gave him a smile and then picked up the slice of bread, tearing off a small chunk of it. He dipped it into the milk and then popped it into his mouth. “Next time warm up the milk. I never understand why humans these days want cold milk.”

“I'll remember that,” he said.

“I'm sure you have questions,” the creature said. “Normally the amulet only lets you meet one creature and only lets you get three answers, but the queen was impressed by the answers you gave to the spirit who lives in the pond. I've been told to help you, but only after the human has gone to sleep. You have the amulet on so you're allowed to see the fair folk. Even though she's been marked she's not to see any of us.” He tore off more bread. “I suppose you're wondering exactly what I am.”

He nodded. “That had crossed my mind, yes.”

“I'm a cofgoda. _Not_ a hobgoblin or a brownie or a gnome. I don't stalk children and I don't do nasty things, at least unless I'm angered. I don't cause mischief unless I have good reason to. I suppose you could call me a minor god, but I still answer to the royal court of the fair folk. I keep this cottage safe, keep the many generations of the human's family who have lived here protected. The human's family has all honored what I do with bread and milk. When the human's mother died I was worried the human would sell the cottage and I would be driven out, but she hired a smart man to care for the place. He leaves milk and bread for me once a week.” He dipped the bread in the milk and ate it. “I like this bread better than the bread he leaves me. That tastes overly processed. This bread is fresher, more wholesome. Was it baked today?”

“Apparently Molly bakes when she's nervous,” Sherlock said as he nodded. “And I expect she'll be cooking a lot when she runs out of things to bake.”

“Molly is the human's name?” the cofgoda asked, looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes.”

He thought about it for a moment. “It's a suitable name.” He turned back to the bread and milk. “Generally I tend to the home and the garden. About a hundred years back one member of the human's family allowed me to tend to the lands as well as the home. It's nice to have some freedom, I've found, and since there hasn't been a family here for years it's kept me from being too idle. And I and the other fair folk on this property have been using the time to prepare for you.” He tore off some bread and pointed at Sherlock with it. “There are creatures that don't want you to succeed in your task. Agents of the king and the like. As long as you're on Molly's property or the property of the human with the Sight you'll be safe. I made sure of this property and the other human has a cofgoda there who has made sure of that place. In the daylight you can travel safely to the village, but be home before dark. It's safest that way.”

“I imagine the king doesn't want me to succeed because he'll lose the human women,” Sherlock said thoughtfully.

The cofgoda nodded. “That's exactly it. His queen has a side that shows kindness to most creatures, fair folk or not. She can get jealous, it's true, but she's not cruel and vindictive for the most part. The king is another matter. He likes to make sure he gets the best of every bargain struck with him, and if he can hurt the humans in the process he does.” He dipped the bread in the milk and ate it. “He took a human without giving her the mark, breaking the terms of the agreement. The queen was quite angered about this, but it gave her the opening she needed. She's been plotting in secret since the last human was taken. She wants to end the cycle of humans being taken by her husband each generation, and you're going to do it.”

“What exactly am I supposed to do, though?” Sherlock asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs.

“I don't know. These books are where to start, though,” the cofgoda replied, gesturing to the books on the table in front of Sherlock.

“I can read quite a bit of material, but I have less than three weeks to read all of these and I don't know if I'll be able to,” he replied with a sigh. “I would have to stay awake for over twenty-four hours some nights, and then I'll sleep far longer than I normally do as my body recovers.”

“There is a bush, right outside the back door of the cottage, that has lavender flowers on it,” the cofgoda said. “It's been enchanted by one of the woodland spirits. If you ingest the petals of three flowers on that bush each night you can sleep for three hours, one for each flower, and feel like you've slept an entire night. They have a sweet taste so it would be best to add them to something you don't mind being sweetened. And don't let Molly catch you doing it. She always was overly inquisitive, and this is something she can't know.”

“There is quite a bit going on that she can't know about,” Sherlock said with a frown.

“The queen may relent in time, if Molly's heart is true. But there are humans who are friendly with the creatures who want to stop you, and if information is given to one of them that shouldn't be given then the whole thing will fall apart.” He took some more of the bread. “You'll lose Molly and the curse will continue.”

“So it's a curse?” Sherlock asked.

“It's become one, over time, but there's no easy way to beat it. No kissing a sleeping maiden, no casting of a spell.” He paused. “The human with the Sight told you that this is a battle, and she's right. It will take wits and will to end the curse, and the answers are in these books.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “What do you know about the book I need to find?” he finally asked.

“I know it's not in this pile,” the cofgoda replied before eating the bread, and Sherlock sighed. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. “It's nearby, though. It's in a place the king can't search for it, which means it's on this property or the property of the human with the Sight. Those are the only places safeguarded from the king, and the only places he wouldn't be able to send his agents.”

“But I should read these books anyway?” he asked, picking up the one he had been reading.”

The cofgoda nodded. “As I said, wits and will is what you need. Even if the queen favors you there is only so much she can do for you, and while she is fairly sure you're the human she's been waiting for she wants you to come into the match prepared to use that towering intellect you have, and if you have all the knowledge from the books that will help you tremendously. Those will be your wits. She'll know the full measure of your will once you find that book.” He took the last bite of bread and dipped it in the milk, eating it. “That's all the help I can give you tonight. Go get the flowers and ingest them. I'll come back in two days.”

“Thank you for what you did tonight,” Sherlock said.

“All of the fair folk who are loyal to the queen, who care about the humans in this village, we all want the king's hold over this place to disappear,” he said. “If there is indeed a war, we'll be on your side.”

“Will it be enough?” Sherlock asked.

The cofgoda gave him a grin. “You'd be surprised.” He picked up the bowl and drank the last of the milk. “And remember: fresh bread and warm milk are preferred.”

“I'll remember that,” Sherlock said with a nod.

The cofgoda nodded in response and then, just as suddenly as he'd appeared, he was gone. Sherlock looked at the hearth for a moment, then got out of the chair to pick up the bowl and the plate and take them back into the kitchen. He set them in the sink and then made his way to the back door of the cottage. He picked up the torch Molly had hanging on the wall, and he turned it on as he unlocked the door and opened it. It took him only a few moments to find the bush in particular, and he plucked three flowers off of it. He brought one of them up to his nose and sniffed it, finding it had no scent at all. That seemed peculiar for some reason; he had thought a flower that would taste sweet would have a scent of some sort.

When he was done he went back inside and went to the coffeemaker. He pulled down a mug and then poured himself a cup. Once he added his sugar he plucked off each petal of the three flowers and dropped it into the mug before taking a sip. He grimaced at how overly sweet it was; the cofgoda had definitely meant it when he said the petals would taste sweet. But he forced himself to drink the entire mug of coffee and when he was done he checked to make sure he had ingested all the petals. Once he was satisfied he had he poured himself another cup and took that back with him to the books. He had just sat down when he heard movement from the hallway towards the bedrooms. He looked up and saw Molly come out. “You should be sleeping,” he said.

“I thought I heard voices. I mean, more than yours,” she said.

He paused. She wasn't allowed to see any of the fair folk, but he hadn't been told not to tell her about them. Still, it was best not to tempt fate. “It was just me, on the phone with someone trying to get more information,” he lied.

“This late at night?” she asked, coming over towards his chair.

“He keeps odd hours,” he replied. And that was true; he doubted the cofgoda would ever visit him during the day because Molly would be awake. “I'll be going to bed shortly myself, I'm sure. Maybe in a few hours.”

“Well, do you need anything?” she asked.

“I had some soup and some bread, and I'm having some coffee right now,” he said, lifting up his cup. “I'll be fine.”

“All right,” she said. “Just make sure you get some sleep, all right? I know you have a tendency to stay up for days. John's said as much. I don't want you to drop from exhaustion if I can help it.”

“I'll take care of myself, I promise,” he said with a nod.

“Okay then. I'll try and go back to sleep then. Good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night, Molly,” he said with a nod, and after a moment she turned and made her way back to her bedroom. He waited to make sure she shut her bedroom door behind her and then he picked the book he had been reading back up and opened it to the page he had marked. This was going to be quite interesting, and he just hoped that by the time this was all over he hadn't pushed her away with any other lies he might need to tell her.


	5. Chapter 5

He finally went to sleep at four in the morning, setting his alarm for seven. The minute his head hit the pillow he was asleep, but it was a different sleep than he was used to. He rarely dreamed when he was asleep, but immediately he was plunged into the most lucid dream he had ever had. There was a woman's voice, but it was no woman he knew. Her voice was light and airy with a steely reserve underneath, and she was speaking to him of lore not contained in any book. It felt as though the knowledge was drilling its way into his head so he wouldn't forget it when he woke up. He would catch glimpses of a woman moving around, just at the edge of his vision. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, with long red hair that went below her knees and the most elegant clothing he had seen, even if it was old fashioned. But when he tried to look at her she would disappear, only to reappear when he stopped.

The dream ended moments before his alarm went off, and when he opened his eyes he felt refreshed, as though he'd been sleeping the entire night. He got out of the bed he was using and stretched, surprised he didn't feel sore after being hunched over reading books. To be honest, he had never felt this well after sleeping before, and it was something he really did hope stayed the case while he was working on trying to get Molly out of her predicament. It wasn't until he looked down at the nightstand that he saw something that hadn't been there the night before. He picked up the folded piece of paper. It wasn't the same type of paper that Isabella had used in her note. This felt thicker, and looked more natural. When he opened it he saw lines of text, all in a flowing script, but it was in a language he didn't understand. He frowned for a moment, then set it back down on the nightstand. After that he went and grabbed his dressing gown from the back of the door and slipped it on, intent to go out into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee before he tried to find out exactly what the note said.

He made his way to the kitchen and saw Molly was already up, nursing a mug of coffee while looking at one of the books he had read the night before. He took a moment to really study her. It looked as though she had had trouble sleeping; she looked tired and he could see she had bags under her eyes. The restless nights had to have been more than just the night before for it to look as bad as it was. He simply hadn't been able to tell with the make-up she had been wearing all the times he'd seen her since October 1st. She was frowning slightly as she read and her brow was furrowed. He had seen her look like this when she was really concentrating on something. And she had her hair down, which was unusual for her. Normally she had it up in one fashion or another, and he watched her reach up and tuck a loose strand behind her ear. He almost didn't want to interrupt her because he had the feeling she probably wouldn't appreciate that she had been stared at, but after a moment he cleared his throat and she snapped her head up, turning to look at him. “Oh! Sherlock. I was just...I'm sorry. I didn't know if this was one of the books you were reading and I--”

He held up a hand to stop her rambling. “I finished that one last night,” he said, going to the cabinet where the coffee mugs were. “How long have you been awake?”

“I never really went to sleep,” she admitted. “I've been having nightmares since I got the mark. It's very hard to sleep.”

He nodded. It seemed as though the king really was cruel if he was the one behind the nightmares she was having. “And what was happening in your nightmares?”

“There's something stalking me. I'm out at night, and I hear a howl, and then I feel something moving behind me, but when I turn to look there's only darkness. So I move more quickly, but it's following me. No matter how many times I look behind me it's there, and it's moving faster as I move faster. And then I trip and fall and I'm engulfed by darkness.” He watched her shudder. “I usually snap awake when that happens. And it's the same dream every time I fall asleep, other than where I am when I realize I'm being followed.”

He remembered what the cofgoda had said about it not being safe at night and wondered if Molly's dreams were related to that. If she did go out at night there could be something stalking her and there would be no way to stop it with the little information he had right now. He pulled down a mug and began to make himself some coffee. “Hopefully it won't happen. But perhaps it's best if you stay here at night.”

“You think it might be more than just a nightmare?” she asked.

“With everything going on we don't know. But I believe you will be safe enough here at night.” He pulled the sugar over and took two spoonfuls and dumped them in his coffee. “You are going to need sleep, though. I know what it's like to only have a few hours of sleep at a time.”

“You weren't asleep very long and you seem fine this morning,” she said.

“But my body is used to it,” he lied. He hated the idea of lying to her but he had been told not to tell her about the enchanted flowers. “I do this much more often than you do. One day soon I'll need to sleep for quite a while to recharge.”

“All right,” she said.

“I have a question for you,” he said, changing the topic of discussion. “If someone wanted to hide something on your property, where would they do it?”

She tilted her head slightly as she thought about it. “There's the attic and the cellar, I suppose. I haven't been in either since my mum died and I was cataloging what was in there because Emily insisted.”

“Who's Emily?” he asked.

“My sister. She's younger than me and she's someone who believes she's better than this village. I think she's always resented her life here. I'm fairly sure she also thinks she's better than I am, which I suppose in a way could be true. She's more successful, at any rate.”

He took his coffee to the table. “What does she do?”

“She's the Vice President of Operations for a major company in London. She's one of the youngest executives in her company, and she's on track to become President of Operations when the current holder of the position retires.” She took a sip of her coffee. “She's only a year younger than I am and she seems to think that because she makes more money and has a flashier title she's the better of the two of us.”

“But you make a difference every day at your job,” he pointed out. “You give law enforcement some of the information they need to solve murder cases, and sometimes it's the information they need to crack a case. I know I'm found your contributions to be immeasurable. And it's not just the autopsy results. You've also noticed things I've missed when I first see a body that sometimes give me my best leads. Being a vice president in a large corporation doesn't make her better than you, especially since she sounds as though she has a tremendous ego.”

“Yeah, she does,” she said with a slightly humorless smile. Then she looked at him. “Do you really think I'm important?”

He nodded. “I think you're quite important, Molly.”

She gave him a wider and warmer smile, before she pushed her chair back. “Why don't I make us something to eat? How do you feel about porridge?”

“It's not my absolute favorite, but if that's what you're in the mood for I won't object,” he replied. He picked up his cup of coffee as she stood up and then moved to the seat across from him so he could watch her cook. “I had some of the bread last night. It was quite good. You should make more when we eat it all.”

“I just might. I quite enjoy baking. It's something I'm good at that's very relaxing,” she replied. “I suppose I'll have to go to the village to get more food later this week. I tend to either bake or cook a lot when I'm stressed. Though since you don't eat a lot maybe I shouldn't go overboard.”

“I'll eat more if making the food is something that calms you,” he said. “Just don't make huge portions and we should be fine. I actually wouldn't mind that soup more often when we get home. It's very good.”

“If we both go home,” she said quietly, pausing in what she was doing.

He hesitated a moment, then picked his coffee up and moved towards her. “I plan on doing everything I can to make sure we both are able to return to London on November 1st,” he said. “I'm going to read all those books and I'm going to learn everything I can and I'm going to fight very hard to keep you here.”

“Like my own personal knight in shining armor?” she asked.

“More like tarnished armor,” he said, giving her a small smile. “But I suppose the general idea is the same.”

She smiled back slightly and then tentatively reached over and placed a hand on his arm. “I know you're trying. I mean, you believe me now, and that's more than I could have hoped for. I just...I have this feeling nothing is going to go the way we're planning. I'm just so worried it's not going to work, and I really don't want to leave here, leave my friends and my life.”

“I'll do more than my best, then,” he said, looking down at her hand. “I promise.”

“I'm going to hold you to that,” she said with a nod. She squeezed his arm once and then removed it before going back to what she had been doing. He watched her, careful not to get in her way, and once she began chatting with him they kept up an easy stream of conversation as she cooked their morning meal. When she was done she served it up for the both of them and they brought the bowls to the table, pausing in their conversation to eat. It wasn't until they were done that she picked up the book again. “Is it all right if I read the ones you're finished with?” she asked.

He nodded. “I don't think it would hurt if you knew some of this information as well. I've finished three of the larger volumes now as well as that one. I can set them somewhere for you to read when I finish them.”

“I would like that,” she said with a nod. Then she paused. “Why did you want to know where someone would be able to hide something?”

He had hoped she wouldn't ask that question, and he hesitated on answering for a moment before he sighed. “I need to find something. I can't tell you what, for your own protection, but I need to find it and see if I understand it.”

She looked at him for a moment and then nodded slowly. “I see.”

“I want to tell you, but if someone who has ill intentions gets a hold of you they can force you to tell them what I'm looking for or where to find it and then all of this is for nothing,” he said quietly.

“Sherlock, I understand. Honestly, I do,” she said, giving him a faint smile. “There's probably a lot going on that you can't tell me. When you can, or _if_ you can, then I'll find out then. Until that point, just do what you need to do to stop me from being taken.” She stood up, taking their bowls to the sink. “I'll show you how to get into the attic and the cellar, and then I'll leave you alone to do whatever it is you have to do today.”

He nodded, watching her for a moment, and then when she was done he finished his coffee and put the mug in the sink. “I think I'm going to need to get a hold of something that isn't a suit to dig around in the attic and cellar,” he replied.

“I still have some of my dad's clothing here, and you're about the same size,” she said. “I haven't had the heart to give all of his or Mum's clothing away. It's mostly casual shirts and denim trousers, because I have fond memories of him wearing them while he'd putter around in the garden. If anything it would be durable enough if you got it dirty.” She motioned for him to follow her, and she went to the bedroom neither of them were using. She opened the door and he saw it was the largest room of the three bedrooms, and it was quite bright there despite it being an overcast day. She went to the chest of drawers and opened it, pulling out a pair of denim trousers, and then a second and finally a third. “Try one of these on to see if they fit while I get you a few shirts to wear.”

He nodded and made his way towards the bedroom he was using. He set the trousers on his bed and that was when he noticed a new note next to the first one. It was not on the same paper, and it was a rather blocky print as opposed to flowing script, and _this_ time the words were in English. _Share the secret of the flowers with Molly_ , it said. Apparently someone was paying attention to the conversations he was having with Molly. He folded the note again and set it back on the nightstand before he took off his pyjama bottoms to put on a pair of the trousers. He got them on and saw they were an almost perfect fit. They were a little long, no more than a few centimeters or so, but that wouldn't be a problem. There was a knock on the door a moment later. “Yes?” he asked.

“What size shoe do you wear?” she asked.

“I'm an eleven and a half,” he said.

“That's my dad's size. I found a never worn pair of trainers that my mum must have bought him before he got sick. They're old, but they appear to be in good condition.” He came over and opened the door and she looked down. “I see they fit.”

“They're a little long but not too bad,” he said, taking the box she was holding.

“I like the way you look in just a T-shirt and denim trousers,” she said with a smile. “You look more approachable yet still rather handsome.” He felt himself warm just slightly at the compliment but she didn't appear to notice as she was turning away from him. “I completely forgot the shirts. I'll be right back.”

He watched her walk back to her parents’ bedroom and then when she was back inside he took the box and set it on the bed. He might need to get a thicker pair of socks for the trainers but it was a good idea to have them. He should have anticipated there being occasions where a suit was not practical, but as soon as he had that thought he remembered that up until he had gone to the pond and had his first encounter with the fair folk he hadn't believed Molly's story. He had simply thought he would ask questions and try his best to convince Molly it was all in her head.

He was still thinking about that when there was another knock on his door. He went over and saw Molly with a stack of seven or eight shirts. He couldn't quite tell at first glance. “There are some T-shirts and some button down ones,” she said. “Whatever you're in the mood to wear while you're searching for whatever it is you need to find.”

“Thank you,” he said as she yawned. “Molly, exactly how much sleep did you get last night?”

“Maybe two or three hours?” she said.

“I have gotten permission to tell you about something. Apparently one of the fair folk was eavesdropping on us this morning.” He went to his bed and set the shirts down and then went back over to Molly. He left the room and she followed him, and he went through the sitting room to the kitchen, making his way to the back door of the cottage. Once he got there he opened it and plucked three flowers from the enchanted bush. “Take the petals of these three flowers and put them in something you want to eat that you don't mind being sweetened. When you ingest them and you fall asleep you'll sleep for three hours but you'll feel as rested as if you slept all night.”

He handed her the flowers and she took them. “But what about the nightmares?” she asked.

“Somehow I get the feeling they will not be a problem so long as you've ingested the flowers,” he said. “You should probably use them now and attempt to get some rest.”

“I think that sounds like a good idea,” she said, and he could see she was trying very hard not to yawn again. “If you can thank whoever is allowing me to use them for me I would appreciate it.”

“I will if I can figure out who is allowing it,” he said with a nod. “They are very sweet, though.”

“Well, there's still some coffee. I can drink coffee with just sugar if I absolutely have to.” She went back inside at that point and just as he was about to join her he heard a rustling in a nearby bush. He looked and saw the cofgoda standing there, nodding towards him. That answered the question of who allowed her to know about the flowers, he realized as he nodded back before he went back inside. But if it helped her then it was all for the best. Now he just needed to concentrate of reading as many of the books as he could and finding the special book he needed to find. If he could do all that he'd feel better about his chances of saving Molly from her fate.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock spent the day reading as many books as he could. Molly took a short three hour nap and when she woke up she looked refreshed. He could tell before asking that she had not had the recurring nightmare, and he was pleased for that. She came in and sat on the sofa, pulling her legs up under her and reading one of the books he had finished. They stayed in a companionable silence until she began to make supper for them, and he set aside his book and joined her in the kitchen. He needed a break, and she hadn’t minded the company. As soon as he was done eating, though, he went back to reading, staying up long after she had decided to go to her room.

When he finally did rest he slept for his three hours and woke up to another note on his nightstand. This one he knew was from the cofgada because it was in the blocky print and it said _Remember, we meet tonight. Make sure you're awake while she's asleep._ It was still dark this time, and he got dressed in the more casual clothing Molly had loaned him. He fully expected her to be awake but when he got to the sitting room he didn't see her, and she wasn't in the kitchen, either. He began to make coffee for himself and rummaged around the cabinets for some of the cereal he thought he had seen earlier. It wasn't something he liked to eat but he assumed Molly would prefer it if the cottage didn't burn to the ground.

He was just about to sit down with the bowl when he felt the amulet burn red hot against his skin. He pulled it out from under his shirt as quickly as he could, and just as he got it off his chest he heard a noise at the front of the cottage that made his blood run cold. It was the howling of a dog, but it was like no dog he had ever heard before. Quickly making his way to the door he threw it open and saw a creature with red eyes as big as saucers standing on the road, looking at the cottage. From this distance he couldn't tell exactly how big it was, but it was larger than a regular dog would be. It howled again and he could hear Molly come over to the door. “Sherlock?” she asked, coming to the door. He glanced over at her and saw she hadn't even put her dressing gown on over her pyjamas. She had a wide-eyed look of horror on her face. “What is that?”

“I think it's whatever was chasing you in your dreams,” he said quietly. “And it's quite unhappy with us.”

The creature moved farther back, and Sherlock almost thought it was going to retreat, but then it hurled itself towards the edge of the property. Suddenly a sheet of nearly blinding multicolored light came up at the property's edge and the creature was thrown back onto the road. That didn't deter him though, and he barreled back for the property, only to be thrown back one more time. “What's causing that?” Molly asked.

“The protection laid on this cottage,” he replied as the creature's eyes glowed even redder. “As long as we're on the property while it's dark we're safe.” Molly nodded, and then when the creature howled again she moved closer to Sherlock, burying her head in his shoulder. Instinctively he moved to comfort her, which he honestly wouldn't even have thought he was able to do, but he kept his eyes on the creature. He backed up again to see if he could get onto the property but then he stopped. Sherlock could see the first rays of the morning sun were on the horizon, and as he watched the creature became a large puff of smoke, dissipating into the air after a minute. He realized then that Molly was shaking like a leaf. “It's gone,” he said quietly.

She lifted her head up, and then she realized exactly what she was doing and took a step away from him. He lowered his arms to let her move away, and he saw she looked embarrassed. “I didn't...” she began, her cheeks turning red.

“It's all right,” he said, moving to shut the door. “It frightened me as well.”

“I just know you're not the type of person who likes people hanging onto them, that's all,” she said.

He waited for her to compose herself, then he nodded towards the kitchen. “I started to make coffee, if you want some. It should be done by now.” She nodded, and they made their way to the kitchen. She went to the table to sit down and he pulled down two mugs for them to have their coffee in. “You take your coffee with cream and sugar, correct?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. He prepared her coffee first and brought it over to her, then went back and prepared his own coffee. “The howling...I was asleep and it brought me right out of my dream.”

“Was it a good dream?” he asked.

She was leaning forward, simply staring at her coffee. “There was a woman, around the edges of it. I'd get glimpses of long red hair and a soft voice, and she was comforting me.” Sherlock stared at her with wide eyes. She'd had a similar dream to his. It had to have been the petals, he thought to himself. “But when I heard the howl she vanished and I saw something lunging at me and I bolted awake.” She stayed quiet for a few minutes. “I don't know how much longer I can do this, Sherlock. I'm terrified to go to sleep again. I had laid awake afraid to go to sleep all night, and now this?”

Sherlock felt the amulet warm against his T-shirt and he looked up to see the cofgada standing by the back door of the cottage. “He's making a play to drive you mad,” the cofgada said quietly. Molly's head snapped up and she stared at him with wide eyes. “The queen decided it was best if she knew everything. The king knows you're attempting to stop him, and that puts both of you in grave danger.”

“What are you?” she asked.

“I'm your cottage's cofgada,” he replied. “I'm a household god who protects the people who live here.”

“And the multicolored light coming up when the creature attempted to enter the property was your doing?” Sherlock asked, ignoring his coffee to get a bowl and plate down from the cabinet.

“Yes,” he replied. “The queen didn't expect the king to get as involved as he is, and that means Molly can't be left in the dark. He wants her, and he wants her badly. And he doesn't want her thinking clearly. That would cause trouble for _you_ and pull you away from the research and finding that book.”

Sherlock moved the bread over to the cutting board and took a knife in his hand to cut off some bread. “I don't know what's more important at the moment, the research or finding the book,” he said as he cut a slice of bread from the loaf and put it on the plate.

“The research, for the moment. You need to know about the things that might attempt to hurt Molly.” The cofgada watched as Sherlock picked the plate up. “Set it on the table, I'll climb up.”

Sherlock nodded. “I apologize that the milk isn't warm,” he said.

“It can't be helped. I wasn't expecting to be having a meeting like this with you right now.” Sherlock set the bread on the table and the cofgada bowed his head and then disappeared before popping up on the top of the table. He sat down on the table in front of the plate of bread and waited for Sherlock to bring him the bowl of milk. “Thank you.”

“Sherlock, you are _far_ too comfortable right now,” Molly said, turning to look at him. “Two days ago you were a complete skeptic, and now you're carrying on a conversation with a...” She paused and turned back to the cofgada. “I'm sorry, I'm...”

“It's all right. You had a scare and a shock, and it takes some time to recover,” the cofgada said, giving her a grin. “But I'm a cofgada. I've been attached to this cottage ever since it was built. I've protected many generations of people who have lived here, even when they've ignored me.” He tore off some of the bread, dipped it into the milk and ate it. “Your mother always left me bread and milk, once a week. She made the best bread, though I admit this bread is tasty too.”

“My mum knew you were here?” she asked.

The cofgada nodded. “Your mother and the other woman, the one with the Sight, worked very hard to figure out a way to stop the king of the fair folk because they knew that this generation you were going to be the chosen woman.”

Molly leaned back in her chair, completely shocked. “They knew? They both knew?”

“Yes,” the cofgada replied, tearing off some bread and dipping it into the milk. “The woman with the Sight didn't know her daughter was going to be taken, but she could clearly see you were to be next. Once your mother became pregnant with you she knew. Your mother had been friendly with her when she was a child, and it didn't take much for the woman with the Sight to convince your mother she needed to study and learn the old ways. And she saw him, too.” He pointed to Sherlock with the bread before eating it. “She knew he was important.”

“How? How is he important?” Molly asked.

“When Isabella uses her Sight, she sees each of us with two futures,” Sherlock said quietly. “I don't know what they are exactly, but she said you and I are the only two people she's ever had that happen with.”

“So because we're different from everyone else we're special?” she asked.

Sherlock nodded. “Apparently.”

She was quiet for a few moments. “So what do we do?” she finally asked.

“The queen has sent something for you, Molly,” he said, popping the bit of bread he'd had in his hand into his mouth before standing up. He held out his hand and then an amulet appeared. He walked across the table and after a moment Molly put out her hand, and he dropped it in her palm. “Sherlock has an amulet on that alerts him when one of the fair folk is in the vicinity and wants to talk to him. We know he has it and we know he wants to speak to those of us on the queen's side, so it guides us to him, and it protects him from those with evil intent. This amulet does much the same thing, though mostly it will hide you from any of the fair folk who want to harm you, up to and including the king. At least for now; as it gets closer to Samhain its effect will wear off, bit by bit, but for now it will keep you safe.”

“Is there anything else we can do?” Sherlock asked.

The cofgada shook his head as he went back to his bread and milk. “For the moment, no. Stay on this property or the property of the woman with the Sight. Don't go out at night.” He was quiet for a moment. “Molly, if the Black Dog comes back and howls, as long as you have the amulet, he can't interrupt your rest. He can't invade your dreams.”

“So that creature, the Black Dog...it was in my dreams?” she asked.

“Yes. The king has decided he wants to torment you. As I said, most likely it's to distract William from what he needs to do to save you. If he's concerned about you he won't read the books or search for the book he needs to find.”

“Is that why you asked where someone would hide something?” Molly asked, turning to Sherlock.

He nodded. “It's either on this property or Isabella's.”

“What does it look like?” she asked.

The cofgada grinned at her. “She asks good questions. I'm surprised you didn't ask, William.”

“I was just going to look for a book I couldn't read,” he said with a slight pout. He was actually quite irritated with himself for not asking such a simple question.

“It's a book bound with green leather. It's small, much smaller than the other books in that room. It should fit in the palm of your hand when you find it. When you open it the pages will be blank at first, but if you can read it you'll start to see words. I don't know what language it will be in, but you will be able to see the words.”

“So I may be able to see the words and still not understand what's in the book?” Sherlock asked.

The cofgada had some more bread. “My queen keeps many secrets. I think as long as you can see the words it won't matter if you can understand them. It's a magic book, and she needs to know if you can use the magic within it.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Sherlock said, frowning as he ran a hand over his face. “Of course, nothing else I've experienced in the last two days has made sense either, so I suppose I should have expected it.”

“I only tell you what my queen says,” the cofgada replied with a shrug. “For now, concentrate on the research. If I can give you any more hints as to where the book is I will tell you as soon as I am told them.”

“I assume you left two of the three notes I've received, then?” Sherlock asked.

“You got three notes?” the cofgada asked, dropping the piece of bread he hand in his hand into the bowl in shock.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “I assume two of them were from you, but I'm not sure who the third one is from.”

“Bring it to me,” the cofgada said insistently.

Sherlock got up and made his way to the bedroom he was using. He had left the notes on the nightstand, and he picked up the one in the flowing script. He then went back to the kitchen and handed the note to the cofgada. “This is the first note I received.”

“I thought it was just a simple scrap of paper,” he said as he unfolded it. He scanned it and frowned. “I can't make heads or tails of this.”

“Damn,” Sherlock murmured as he sat back down.

“I mean, I can read it, but I don't understand the riddle,” he explained. “It's Gaelic. 'San áit ina abides grá, tá sé i bhfolach i an cófra ceann is grá. Nuair a tá sé le fáil, beidh grá conquer go léir' is how you say it, but the rough translation is 'In the place where love abides, it is hidden in the chest of one most loved. When it is found, love will conquer all.'”

“Let me find something to write that down,” Sherlock said, standing up.

“No need,” the cofgada said. He held his hand over the note, and then handed it back to Sherlock. The Gaelic script was gone, and in its place was the translation in the blocky print of the other notes. Sherlock looked over at the cofgada, who grinned. “You didn't think I took charcoal to paper, did you?”

“I had thought you did,” Sherlock admitted.

“No. magic can be quite useful,” he said with a chuckle as he picked up the now sodden piece of bread from the bowl. He put it into his mouth and chewed. “You'll find as you read more that the fair folk are fond of riddles, especially the older ones. Riddles are a way to say one thing and mean another, a way to entrap someone to a certain way of thinking. I hope you two can figure it out.” He took the last bit of bread and dipped it into the milk. “And may I ask for more of this bread?” he asked as he turned to Molly.

“Of course. I'll bake another loaf if we eat all of this up,” she said.

“And tell your caretaker no more of the bread in the bag. Tell him to get a fresh loaf, no more than a day old, and leave me a slice of that instead.”

“I'll make sure Arthur knows,” Molly said as the cofgada popped the bread into his mouth. She watched him pick up the bowl and drink the milk out of it. “Will I get to speak to you again?”

“Have no doubt about that,” the cofgada said with a grin. “I'm here to help however my queen will let me.” He stood up again and then bowed to Molly, who smiled back and inclined her head. “Until next time.” And with that, he vanished.

“That was informative,” Sherlock said, opening the note again and studying it. After a moment he set it aside and looked at the cereal he had left on the table. He took a spoonful out and ate it, making a face. “It's soggy.”

Molly shook her head. “I'll make us a more proper breakfast. Are pancakes all right?” she asked, standing up.

“That's fine,” he replied. She moved around the kitchen but he ignored her, pushing the bowl away and picking up the note again. He had never really liked riddles, but he supposed he'd have to try his best to solve this one. He had the feeling both his and Molly's lives depended on it.


	7. Chapter 7

He was hesitant to go back to Isabella's. Four days after the second visit from the cofgada he still had a large stack of books to read, even with only needing a few hours rest. Molly had suggested she read some of them and then tell him but he said no to that plan as soon as she suggested it. He needed to know every last detail in these books without getting them accidentally mixed up by someone else. But he also needed to find that green leather book. The cofgada said that book was the key, and it was either on Molly's property or Isabella's. He'd spent some time each afternoon searching through Molly's home, in every place he could look, but he hadn't found it yet, and neither had Molly when she had helped. While he had been told to continue the research he wanted to find that book and see if maybe he could glean information from that, too.

It was now his seventh day of being in the cottage and he was lying in bed early in the morning, staring at the ceiling. He'd managed to get through twelve books total, mostly going for the thickest ones first. He had two more weeks to finish them, and at the rate he was going there would be no way to finish them all in time. There _had_ to be some way to get what he needed from the books by reading them more quickly. Finally he glanced at the window. He could see the first light of dawn slipping through the curtains, so he knew it would be safe too leave the house. It was probably too early to go to Isabella's home, but perhaps he could go take a walk and think more about what he might be able to do.

He got out of bed and got dressed quietly, leaving his room when he was done. He went for his coat and then debated where to go. Finally he went to the back door of the cottage and began heading towards the pond. He made it to the bench and sat down, looking at the water. He wasn't sure if the little water spirit would come visit him, but he had to admit he wouldn't mind the company. When five minutes had passed he decided to take matters into his own hands. “Are you still in the pond?” he asked loudly.

A few seconds later he felt the amulet warm. When he looked at the pool he saw not one but two heads pop up from under the water. The two fair folk did not look identical, thankfully, and he could see the water spirit that he had talked to before had a huge smile on her face. “William! Come meet my new friend.”

He grinned slightly and got off the bench as the two spirits came to the edge of the pond. This new member of the fair folk seemed shier than the water spirit. She had brown hair and brown eyes and a tanned face. He knelt down at the edge of the pond. “Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” the other fair folk said, looking down slightly.

“She's shy. Woodland spirits usually are,” the water spirit said. “But the queen said because I was so helpful the woodland spirits could come play with me. We were playing in my home at the bottom of the pond.”

“Were you having fun?” he asked.

“Quite a bit,” the water spirit said with a nod. “Later we'll play among the trees and crunch the fallen leaves.”

“I'm glad,” he said after a moment.

“You're troubled, aren't you?” the water spirit asked. 

“I have much to learn and not much time to do it in,” he said with a sigh. “I have many books to read, and even with getting very little sleep I still have far too many to get through.”

“Do my flowers help?” the woodland spirit asked.

“They do, but there is still not enough hours in the day,” he said.

“Paper is made from trees,” the woodland spirit said slowly. “I can talk to the plants, and hear what they have to say. Maybe I can help you talk to trees too, if the queen will allow it. Maybe it will let the paper tell you what's on it.”

“It couldn't hurt to try,” Sherlock said. “But I don't want to anger your queen.”

The woodland spirit nodded, and then lifted her head up much the same way the water spirit had when she had been listening to her queen when he first met her. Finally she turned back to him. “She said it won't work. The trees have to be living, and paper is dead trees.”

“Well, it was a good idea,” he said with a sigh.

“But she did say I should help you anyway,” the woodland spirit said. “Plants know things, secrets that they can share. They may be able to help you find the book you need to find. And my queen also said it's within the woman with the Sight's power to help you read the books faster.”

He blinked. The answers to two problems solved at once was a good thing, he realized. “How will I be able to talk to the plants?” he asked.

“I have to share my secrets with you,” she replied, pulling herself up out of the water. She too looked young, though slightly older than the water spirit, perhaps eight or nine. She pointed to her left. “I am as old as the young tree there. I'm only two hundred years old, which means I am not as wise as some of the others of my kind. But I am wise enough to know how to share my secrets.”

“Will it hurt?” he asked as she got closer.

“No. But it will only be temporary. I don't know how long it will last, but probably no more than a few weeks. Hopefully it will be long enough to help.” She stood in front of him and then placed a hand on either side of his head and shut her eyes. He did the same, and after a moment he heard a gentle whispering in his thoughts. Soon enough the whisper got louder, as he realized that he could a multitude of voices. It was beginning to get overwhelming before it quieted down again. When it was down to a low murmur the woodland spirit pulled her hands away. “Now you should be able to talk to the plants only when you want to.”

“Thank you,” he said with a nod.

The woodland spirit gave him a smile and then made her way back to the pond. She dove into the water and then swam back to the water spirit. “Tell the human to come visit me with a story!” the water spirit said. “Hopefully a pirate story.”

His own grin widened slightly. “I'll see if she's willing. She's very worried right now and I don't know if she wants to read stories.”

“Well, we would both love to hear stories, right?” the water spirit said to the woodland spirit, who nodded. “Maybe when this is all over and you've saved the human you could come read us the story you like.”

“I could do that,” he said, pleased to hear that she thought he could save Molly. “Let's see what happens first, though. I may return home and not be able to come back for a time.”

“We'll be here, always,” the woodland spirit said. “This is our home.”

“Then I may just do that,” he said, standing up. “Thank you for sharing your secrets, and for talking to your queen for me.”

“You're welcome,” the woodland spirit said with a nod. “Goodbye, William.”

“Bye, William!” the water spirit said excitedly, and then she dove back down into the pond. After a moment, the woodland spirit dove as well, leaving him all by himself.

He made his way back to the cottage, not surprised to see Molly up and about. She was setting up coffee when he came inside. “It's a bit early to be taking a walk,” she said with a slight smile. “But I saw the back door was unlocked so I figured I should make coffee for whenever you came back.”

“Thank you,” he said with a nod.

“Did you go back to the pond?” she asked.

“I did. I had an interesting conversation with the water spirit and a woodland spirit as well. I found out I need to have a chat with Isabella to see about being able to read the books more quickly than I am.”

“Do you want me to go with you when you go?” she asked.

“If you want to,” he replied. “The two spirits over by the pond have requested you go read them a story, however. Preferably one with pirates.”

Molly chuckled. “Maybe I will. I know all of this is important, but I just need a break. Maybe I can read them Peter Pan. My copy of that is still here, I believe.”

He studied her closely. She seemed to be quite a bit more rested, but even with the smile on her face she looked careworn. This was wearing on her in a way it wasn't wearing on him, and there wasn't anything he could do at the moment to help except forge on and learn everything he could from those books. He wanted to give her reassurances that he would get her out of this predicament but he still wasn't sure it would happen. That had been a niggling thought that rattled around in his head at the most inopportune times. “I think they would enjoy that,” he said finally.

“Well, I wanted to do some baking today as well,” she said. “I want to make some muffins, and I have the ingredients for apple crumb ones. Would those be a good breakfast, maybe with some eggs and sausage?”

“That will be fine,” he said, nodding as he spoke. He sat down at the table. “If you don’t go to the pond perhaps you could look for the book some more.”

“I have a theory about that book,” she said, filling up the pot with water. “I think it’s going to have to be you that finds it. I mean, I know what it looks like because the cofgada told me, but I think somehow you’re going to be the one that ends up finding it.”

He was quiet for a moment. This all seemed to be a quest of his to do, for some reason, so he supposed she had a very valid point. Then he sighed. “Why do I get the feeling that’s exactly what’s going to happen?” he asked.

“Because none of this was ever going to be easy,” she said quietly. “I just wish I could help more. I mean, I can’t read the books for you, I’m probably not going to find that book…it seems like there is so little I can actually _do_ and I hate it.”

“You are helping, though,” he said. “You’re making sure I don’t get too wrapped up in all this that I forget to take care of myself. That is an immeasurable help.”

“So I’m basically John,” she said in a wry tone.

He gave her a small grin. “I wouldn’t have phrased it that way, but there’s some truth to that statement.”

She poured the water into the coffeemaker and started it. “How is it living at your home without him?” she asked.

“I’ve gotten used to being alone again,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I think I had gotten used to him not being around while I was gone, and that made coming back and founding he wasn’t there easier to deal with. It helps that Mary insists I come over for supper twice a week, though.”

“I should have been better at making sure you weren’t lonely, too,” she said.

“You can be, when we go back to London when this is over,” he replied softly. “We can make it a point to spend more time together if we don’t absolutely detest each other by the first.”

She nodded at that but didn’t say anything, turning her attention to getting their breakfast ready. It wasn’t an awkward silence that they fell into, not completely, but it wasn’t completely companionable, either. He knew neither of them really believed he would absolutely save her, no matter how much both of them wanted it to be the case. But he would keep trying until the absolute last minute.

When she was done making the muffins and putting them in to bake she started to make the rest of their breakfast. He had gotten up for a second cup of coffee when he felt his amulet warm. It was the sudden hot warming like it had been when the Black Dog had appeared, and he’d nearly dropped his mug on the floor. Molly paused in what she was doing as she pulled her amulet out from under her shirt. “What the bloody hell?” she asked.

“Something is wrong,” he said.

“William!” he heard the cofgoda shout from the hearth. Molly quickly turned off the heat to the food and both of them ran to the sitting room. When they got there the cofgoda looked up at both of them. “Someone broke through the defenses at the woman with the Sight’s home. I can’t leave but she needs help. Her protections are failing. The queen says you can talk to the plants now. You need to convince them to contain the threat. I can’t leave this property, but the queen has granted me enough power to send you there. It’s not my normal type of magic, but I can do it.”

He nodded. “What exactly do I need to do?”

“You can talk to any living plant, and she has a wall of roses near her home. Convince the roses to grow and protect her home. Then banish the spirit with this.” He handed Sherlock a slender wand of some sort. “The king knows his wife is helping. He can’t attack her directly, but he knows the woman with the Sight can aid you directly while the queen can only guide you along and grant you partial help. He feels if he takes her out of the equation you’ll flounder and fail.”

“All right,” he said. “Keep Molly safe.”

“The other spirits on the property are doubling down protections here as we speak.” He motioned to Sherlock to come closer. “This isn’t going to be graceful, and it’s probably going to be a rough landing. But you’ll land right outside the threat.”

Sherlock got close enough and the cofgoda put his hand on his calf. He said something in a language Sherlock didn’t understand and then suddenly he was on his arse outside Isabella’s cottage. He looked up and saw an old man with a red cap, who had red eyes, large teeth that he was gnashing together and talons for hands. He was holding a pikestaff in his left hand and using that for his attack. He knew what it was from one of the books he had already read and there was no way a powrie should be anywhere _near_ this village. They inhabited abandoned castle and there wasn’t a castle near enough to justify it being there.

The powrie hadn’t noticed him and he stood up, quietly making his way towards the edge of the roses. He wasn’t quite sure what to do, but he assumed he should probably be touching the roses as he attempted to do something. He reached over and grabbed the stem of the nearest rose. He could feel the thorns cut his skin, but then he heard a loud murmur in his head. They knew what he wanted without him having to say anything, and as he watched the stems began to get longer, moving towards the powrie. The powrie saw them move and began to direct his attack at them before he spotted Sherlock. But before the powrie could get any closer the stems of the roses began to wrap around his legs, binding them together. They quickly wound their way around him, leaving him covered in thorns and unable to attack.

The door to the cottage opened and Isabella stepped outside, looking decidedly angry at first until the look of surprise at what she encountered took over. “William,” she said.

“I was told to rescue you,” he said, letting go of the stem. He had small cuts on his palm where the thorns had dug into it, and he was bleeding, though not badly.

“Were you given anything to banish him?” she asked. He held up the wand. “And I’m assuming they didn’t tell you what to do.”

“No. There was a bit of a rush.”

She held out her hand. “I can do that part.” He handed her the wand and she took it. She pointed it at the incapacitated powrie. She whispered something in a language he thought was similar to the one the cofgada used and soon a red smoke was coming from the bundle of thorns as an inhuman scream filled the air. When the smoke stopped rising and the screaming stopped the stems fell to the ground in a heap. She looked back over at him. “Would you kindly tell my roses that I’m safe now and they can go back to how they—”

“I don’t think you need me to,” he said, cutting her off and pointed to the stems, which were receding back into the rose bushes.

“Well, that’s good. I like being able to walk in my garden.” She moved closer to him and pulled his injured hand closer. “Let me tend to that and you can explain to me why you can suddenly talk to plants and how you got here so quickly.” He nodded as she let go and they made their way back towards her cottage. She paused to pick up the powrie’s pikestaff and carried it inside with her. He followed her into her kitchen where she began to move about, pulling down different jars and canisters. “Start explaining, William.”

“The queen is aiding me,” he said, and he watched her still in her movements. “The different fair folk on Molly’s property are allowed to aid me however they can. I was interrogated by a water spirit the day I arrived, there is a cofgoda who has helped unravel a few mysteries that have cropped up and today a woodland spirit gave me the ability to talk to plants.”

“She truly thinks you can break the curse,” Isabella said, turning to face him with wide eyes.

Sherlock nodded. “The king knows she’s helping, though. He sent the powrie here to destroy you.”

“Did he now,” she said in a slightly satisfied tone. “Good. If he thinks I’m a threat then we’re doing something right. Has he sent anyone after the two of you?”

“A Black Dog,” he said. “It wasn’t allowed to enter the property. There are safeguards in place.”

“And I need to work on mine, if this morning is any indication,” she said thoughtfully. “If he’s pulling creatures from places elsewhere to be here he can throw anything at us. We need to double down on you learning everything you can.”

“I’ve spent nearly a week reading as many books as I can and I’ve only gotten through twelve of them. The queen said you have the power to make it easier.”

Isabella was quiet for a moment. “I do. I can grant you to ability to more or less absorb an entire books content by touch. But it’s irreversible. It will work on every book you touch for the rest of your life. Are you sure you want that?”

“That might actually help in my chosen career,” he said thoughtfully. “And it’s not as though I read for pleasure anyway.”

“Then I’ll do it. But you’ll have to come back tonight. I need time to get everything together and it has to be done at night.”

“The cofgada said it’s not safe to travel at night,” he said.

“I’m afraid there’s no help for that. I need to do the spell by moonlight. But you can stay here for the night.”

“I’m not leaving Molly alone,” he said adamantly.

She blinked. “I wasn’t going to suggest you do that, William. Bring her with you. I have room for the both of you.”

“Fine,” he said.

She looked at him. “All of this…you’re worried,” she said shrewdly. “You’re worried Molly will get hurt before all of this is over, or worse, you won’t be able to stop the king from taking her.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “There is so much to do and so little time left. I need to read everything in those books and then I need to find the other book on top of it, and—”

“What other book?” she asked sharply.

This time he was the one who blinked. “A small green leather bound book,” he said. “It’s supposed to be either here or on Molly’s property.”

“I had her hide it for safe keeping,” Isabella said quietly, groaning softly. “I had her hide it and she died before she told me where it was.”

“Had who hide it?” he asked.

“Molly’s mother. I knew it wasn’t a book my cousin had bargained for, and I knew that made it important. When we realized there was a chance Molly could be saved I gave her the book and told her to keep it safe. But she died two days after I gave her the book.”

“Wonderful,” he murmured. Then he was quiet for a moment. “How did Molly’s mother die?”

“She got ill very quickly and died in her sleep. Why?”

“I’m wondering if it was a coincidence,” he said.

Isabella didn’t seem all that surprised by the idea. “I’ll admit, I’ve thought the same thing. I think someone wanted their hands on that book.” He didn’t reply. He could be callous and cruel, even now, but he would never do something like that, send something off with someone that more or less guaranteed their death. If Isabella had known that book was so important she should have kept it on the property instead of putting Molly’s mother at risk. Finally she looked at him. “You think I sent her along to her death.”

“Yes, I do,” he said. “And I’m sure Molly will feel much the same way.”

“I didn’t intend for it to happen,” Isabella said quietly. “If I could have taken it back, kept her safe, I would have. But I didn’t know. I was trying to do something to save everyone here, in a way I couldn’t to save my daughter.”

He was quiet again as he thought. At the moment, Molly couldn’t know. He hated the idea of having to lie to her but there was no other way. “We keep this from Molly, for now. But when this is all over, when she’s safe and the curse is broken, you come clean. You tell her everything and you beg for her forgiveness. Understood?” he said.

She nodded slowly. “Understood. Let me get back to tending your wounds.” And with that she began to move about her kitchen, getting to work while he started reevaluating exactly what the bloody hell was going on. There was much more to all of this than what was on the surface, and he wasn’t sure if things would get better or worse as time moved on.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock was pensive for the rest of the day. He went back to reading, staying quiet as he did so. Molly didn't press for conversation but he could tell she knew something had happened, and he could also tell she wanted to know exactly what it was. He was trying to ignore her for that specific reason, but in a small cottage the only places he could go would be his bedroom or perhaps out to the pond. If he went to the pond he wasn't sure he would be comfortable and if he went to his room he was afraid he might be _too_ comfortable, so he stayed in the sitting room and tried his best to ignore Molly until it was time to go.

They decided to walk, and each of them carried a stack of the books he needed to read. He also had a small bag with a change of clothes for each of them as well as their pyjamas, as Isabella had instructed. He had decided not to bring any of the flowers since when the spell was cast he would be able to absorb the contents of the books simply by touch. If he wanted to sleep for more than three hours then that would be fine from now on, provided he could actually do it. With the thoughts whirring through his head he might still need to rely on the flowers to get actual rest. The two of them walked in silence as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Molly was quiet until they were nearly halfway there. “What happened today, Sherlock?” she asked.

“It was a troubling conversation between Isabella and I,” he said. “It's not important.”

“But why was it troubling?” she asked.

“I can't say. Not right now, at least,” he said with a sigh.

She stopped in her tracks. “Sherlock, tell me now or I'm not taking another step,” she said. “If it has to do with all of this then I have every right to know. It's _my_ life that's affected.”

He looked over at her, then at the horizon. The sun was sinking quickly and they still had to walk for at least twenty minutes. He wanted them safely on Isabella's property before the sun was completely gone. “Can't you just trust me that it can wait?” he asked.

“I want to know. You seemed to have some sense of hope before you went to Isabella's. Now it just seems like it's gone. It scares me, Sherlock, and I don't want to be scared.” She looked at him intently. “Please, tell me.”

He held her gaze for a few minutes and then finally looked down. “Your mother had the book we need to find,” he said quietly. “Isabella gave it to her two days before she died.” He looked back up at her to see her processing what he had said. He could see in her face the exact moment she came to the same conclusion that he had. He could see her get angry for a moment, and then she simply wasn't. That was surprising. “Molly...”

“I want to talk to Isabella. Now,” she said, moving again, this time at a faster clip. He kept up with her, and fifteen minutes later they stepped foot onto Isabella's property. Molly marched up to the door and knocked on it hard. It took a few minutes for Isabella to open the door, and Molly spoke before she could say anything. “I have questions, and you're going to give me answers, and if you lie to me so help me I'll do something drastic.”

Isabella looked over Molly's head to Sherlock, who nodded slightly, and then she moved out of the way. “Come in,” she said.

Molly came into the cottage with Sherlock behind her as the setting sun's rays cast long shadows on the inside of the cottage. Isabella shut the door behind them and then gestured to the sitting room. Molly went and set the books down on the table in front of the sofa and then sat down. Sherlock did the same thing, and once he was settled Isabella sat down in a chair facing them. “What do you want to know?” she asked Molly.

“How did my mother get involved in all of this?” she asked.

“Most women in the village avoided Catherine and I,” she said quietly. “Norma did not. She and Catherine were born only a few years apart, and you mother and her brother were our nearest neighbors. Your mother didn't care about all the talk in the village. She had always been a warm, loving, caring and kind person and it showed in the way she treated Catherine. They were best friends. Both of them decided to stay in the village instead of going to university. When Norma got married at twenty-eight I hoped she wouldn't be chosen, though there was still a possibility, and when she got pregnant at thirty-one she came to me to tell me the good news. I knew then she would not get taken by the fair folk.”

“How did you know that?” Sherlock asked.

“All the women who have been taken have been spinsters, for want of a better term. They had no husbands and no lovers, no children to take care of. Their families were gone or simply didn't care about them.” Isabella turned to Molly. “Your father loved Norma very much, Molly, but there had always been the chance they could have a falling out. When she was pregnant with you I know she would escape unharmed.”

Molly was quiet for a moment. “What happened when your daughter was taken?” she asked.

“I woke up the morning of the first and saw the front door was unlocked and Catherine was nowhere to be seen. I knew the worst had happened at that point, but others in the village did not. They thought she might have simply left on her own. As more women began to turn thirty-five the fear began to dissipate, and when your mother turned thirty-five and there was no mark on October 1st then the village knew what I had known years prior.”

“Why do the women only have daughters in a three year span?” Molly asked.

Isabella glanced at Sherlock, who looked confused. “It's been that way since the bargain was made,” she told him. “Supposedly the year the bargain was made there were only five women in the village who were spinsters in their thirties, and they were all within three years of being thirty-five, save the woman who was taken in the eldest daughter's stead. It's been that way ever since, aside from my own family.”

“Why is your family exempted?” he asked curiously.

“We had the protection of the queen of the fair folk,” she said. “She personally granted my ancestor her powers and bid her to move her family to this village. Until my mother defied the tradition we were protected from being chosen.” She looked over at Molly. “I am sorry I drew your mother into this. I knew the book was important but I felt that if it was kept in your home it would be safer there. I was an obvious target if someone wanted to steal it. Your mother was friendly with me, and someone might have considered going to her home to look, but I thought it was less likely.”

Molly looked down at her hands, which were in her lap. “What do you think killed her?” she asked.

“I honestly don't know,” Isabella said. “All I know is she got ill quickly and then two days later she was dead. She had tried to write a letter to me before she passed but she wasn't able to finish it.”

“Do you still have it?” Sherlock asked.

Isabella nodded and stood up. “Give me a moment.” She turned at that point and left the room.

Sherlock turned to Molly. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“I lost my mum over all this,” she said quietly. “She could still be alive for all we know. And I should be more angry at Isabella over this than I am, I know that. But mostly I'm angry at whoever it was that killed my mum.” She turned to Sherlock. “You have to stop all this. You have to keep others from being hurt or killed over this.”

“I'll do my best.” They lapsed into silence and he looked at Molly intently as the light in the room dimmed with the setting sun. Finally he heard Isabella come back into the room. She was carrying a folded piece of paper and she handed it to Sherlock. “Thank you,” he said as he took it.

He opened it and Molly leaned over to read it. “She was talking about the heart of the home,” she said before looking at Sherlock. “That's similar to the riddle that was left on your nightstand.”

“What riddle?” Isabella asked.

“In the place where love abides, it is hidden in the chest of one most loved. When it is found, love will conquer all,” Sherlock said. “Does that mean something to you?”

Isabella shook her head. “I'll have to think on it more, but the only thing I can think of it means it's inside Molly's home.”

“That doesn't help,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “We've looked in every room.”

“Not every room,” Molly said softly. “I didn't look too hard in my parent's room when I was attempting to look there. It was too painful. Maybe if you look you'll have better luck?”

“Then I'll do that when we return tomorrow,” he said with a nod. Then he turned to Isabella. “When can we do this spell?”

“As soon as the moon is higher in the sky,” she said. “I need it to be high enough to draw the moonlight to a specific place in my garden in the back. No more than four hours, though.”

“Then I suppose we wait,” he replied.

“Have either of you eaten supper?” Isabella asked. They both shook their head and so she stood. “Then let me feed you while we wait. I have stew and fresh bread.”

Sherlock and Molly stood and followed her into the kitchen. She pulled down bowls and then went to her stove, ladling out the stew before giving each of them a bowl. Then she went and pulled down a cutting board and brought it over to a loaf of bread. She put the bread on the cutting board and then began to cut off slices as Sherlock and Molly took their food to the table. They remained quiet as they ate, and then stayed silent when they were finished. Isabella excused herself, saying she needed to prepare to cast the spell, and Sherlock and Molly drifted back towards the sitting room. Molly sat down on the sofa again and picked up one of the smaller books and began to read while Sherlock examined his thoughts. There were so many rattling in his head that he wasn't sure he could, but the one that kept coming to the forefront was that he might actually be able to find the book. Once he did, though, the question became whether he could read it.

Time passed slowly, but finally Isabella summoned them to do the spell. She had changed into a sleeveless white dress and once they stepped outside it appeared as though she wasn't visibly cold. In fact, as Sherlock walked behind her he found he wasn't really cold either. Her backyard seemed much warmer than he had expected, and he was quite surprised to see flowers and trees blooming out of season. “Magic is quite useful,” Isabella said with a smile when she stopped. “Especially a spell to make it spring all the time in a small area.”

“It looks so beautiful back here,” Molly said, looking around.

“It's not just for looks, though,” she said, gesturing for Sherlock to move into a stone circle. “The plants and trees I need for the spell work I do all grow back here. It makes it easier than having to order everything, and the ingredients are more potent if I collect them myself.” She had carried a bowl with her and then looked at Sherlock. “You might want to take your coat off for this. You're going to get wet.”

He nodded and slipped off his coat, handing it to Molly. She draped it over her arm and then looked at Isabella. “Is this going to hurt him?”

“No, dear. It won't hurt him at all.” She studied him for a moment. “I'm going to need you to kneel on the ground. You're too tall for me to do this otherwise.” He knelt down on the ground then and Isabella looked down at him. “You need to be very quiet, both of you. I need to concentrate on how many times I go around the stone circle.”

“Very well,” Sherlock said with a slight nod.

Isabella looked up at the sky and after a moment began to slowly walk around the circle in a clockwise direction. She was chanting something softly in Gaelic, and while he didn't understand it he gathered it was important. Finally she stopped and then carefully poured the contents of the bowl over his head. It smelled like cedar and musk. “Cinn Dhiaga, oscailt an aigne,” she said, more loudly than she had been speaking before. “Ceadaigh dó a ionsú an t-eolas le teagmháil amháin. Déan aon focal scríofa Mystery.” When she was done speaking he felt incredibly warm all over, and then after a moment the feeling faded. “It's done. You can stand up now.”

He did, brushing some of the herbs from his shoulder. “So now I will be able to absorb the contents of any book by touch?” he asked.

She nodded. “For the rest of your life.”

“Then let's put it to the test,” he said, stepping out of the stone circle. The three of them went back into Isabella's home and he went over to the stacks of books on her table in front of the sofa. He picked one up but nothing happened. “What am I doing wrong?” he asked with a frown before he began to feel his palm warm. Suddenly in his head he could see every page of the book, and not only could he see them he knew everything that was on them. He nearly dropped the book on his foot when that happened.

“It takes some getting used to,” Isabella said. “But it will happen more quickly with more practice.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod.

“Let me show you where my washroom is so that you can clean yourself up,” she replied. “I'll also show you where you'll be sleeping tonight. Doing something like that takes quite a bit out of me.”

He went to the bag and pulled out his pyjamas before turning and following her. She showed him the bedroom he would be staying in and then directed him to her washroom. She left him at that point and he stripped down before turning the shower on and stepping under it. He found Isabella had homemade soap and shampoo, and he used both to get clean. When he was done he took a towel from the stack that had been folded on the counter of the sink and dried himself off before changing into his pyjamas and going out into the sitting room. No one was there, so he assumed Molly had gone to the room she would be using. He saw that there were new books stacked next to the ones he and Molly had brought, about thirty of them. He settled into the sofa and began pulling books over, spending a few moments touching each one before the contents of the book became clear in his mind. The more books he did that to the faster it seemed to happen.

When he was done he sat in the dimly lit sitting room, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his thighs. He took the information he had gotten from the books and began to sort it all out in his head, deciding where each tidbit of information needed to go for easier access. He wasn't sure how long he had been there doing that when he heard someone come to the doorway of the sitting room. He looked up and saw Molly was there. “You should be asleep,” he said quietly.

“You should too,” she said, coming out and sitting next to him. “It's nearly three in the morning.”

“Were you able to get any sleep?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not really. I didn't exactly have nightmares, but there's something at the edge of my dreams that isn't friendly. I can tell it's there and it makes it hard to stay asleep.”

“We really should have brought some of those flowers,” he said with a slight smile.

“Well, when it becomes safe to go back we can use some and get some real rest,” she said. “Did you go through all those books?”

He nodded, gesturing to the stacks. “Isabella added some more. Journals that her family has kept since they arrived in this village, mostly, though there were also a few books of spells I'm assuming she thought might be helpful.”

“What are you going to do with all this information when this is over?” she asked.

“File it away until there's need of it, I suppose,” he said with a slight shrug. “Not that I think there will be. When this is over I'd be quite happy never to have to deal with fair folk ever again, aside from the ones on your property. Though I suppose when this is all over I'll no longer be able to see them.”

“I think when we get back tomorrow I'll go out to the pond and read some of a story to the water spirit,” she said. “She's been most helpful to you, and it would be nice to get my mind off of all of this.”

He looked at her for a few moments. “Do you still have hope that I'll find a way to get you out of this?” he asked.

She nodded slowly. “I have more hope now than I did this afternoon, when you were ignoring me.”

“I only did that because I wanted to keep the revelation hidden until this was all over,” he said. “I didn't want you to take it poorly.”

“You really didn't have the right to make that decision,” she said, anger tinging her voice. “You should have told me immediately. It was my mother that died because of all of this, not yours.”

“You didn't need to be burdened with it yet,” he said, getting slightly irritated. “I was only trying to protect you.”

“You can protect me from the fair folk, Sherlock, but don't try protecting me from the truth. Don't ever lie to me,” she said, glaring at him. “I know you still think you can do that but I thought I meant more to you than I obviously do.”

“You mean a great deal to me and if you can't see that then I'm not sure how I can show you,” he said.

She stood up and looked at him. “I need fresh air,” she said, moving around him and going to the front door.

“You don't know if her protections will hold,” he said, getting up after her and getting to the door. She unlocked it and opened it and he pushed the door shut. “This morning a powrie was here. They inhabit abandoned castles, and as I'm sure you're aware there are no castle here. The king wants Isabella gone and that makes it dangerous to leave.”

“I won't leave the property,” she said.

He was quiet. “If you insist on going outside then I'm going to insist I go with you.”

“That defeats the purpose,” she said.

“I'll stay near the road. At least that way I can see whatever is coming,” he said. “I can protect you if it comes down to it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Have it your way.” He removed his hand from the door and she opened it. She stepped outside and he followed, and she moved over to the roses, pacing in front of them. He moved down the path towards the road, careful to not move too far away from her. He glanced at the road from time to time and after ten minutes decided they had spent enough time outside. He turned to look at Molly and saw she was stock still, staring at something on the other side of the fence. He quickly moved over to her. “Sherlock, what's that?” she asked, fear in her voice.

He looked in the direction she was looking at and studied the creature in the field on the other side of the fence. It looked as though it was a squat, hairy man, completely uncouth in appearance. It was quite possibly one of the ugliest creatures Sherlock had ever seen. He had long arms and eyes as wide as saucers that glowed red. When it saw them staring at it he leaned his head back and bayed at the moon. It sounded like an animalistic wail. “That is a boggart,” he said after a moment, moving in front of her. “Make your way back inside.”

She was quiet for a moment, and then began backing towards Isabella's home. She stumbled, though, and fell over onto her arse. The boggart lifted its head again and howled, and as he made his way towards the property Sherlock could hear a chain rattling. He knew turning his back was a bad idea but he quickly went over to Molly. She was cradling her wrist in her other hand. “I think I hurt my wrist.”

“Let me help you up,” he said. She gave him her good hand and he pulled her up. “Get inside,” he said.

She nodded and then hurried towards the front door of the cottage just as Isabella stepped outside. “So he sent a boggart this time,” she said towards Sherlock as she looked at Molly's wrist closely.

He nodded. “It doesn't appear to be advancing on the home, though.”

“He can't. My protections are different from the ones I imagine Molly's home has,” she said. “He'll be frozen there until the sun rises, able to do nothing other than howl, and when the sun comes up he'll disappear.” She looked over at Molly. “You sprained your wrist, I think. Come back inside and I'll take care of it.”

She nodded. “All right.”

“Come inside as well, Sherlock. There's nothing more to do,” Isabella said. After a moment he turned again, moving back towards the house as the boggart howled again. Once they were all inside she turned to both of them. “And just what were the two of you thinking going outside at night, hmm? Wasn't this morning enough to prove that you're not entirely safe while this is going on?”

“We were arguing and Molly said she needed to clear her head,” Sherlock said defensively.

“You could have gone into the backyard,” she said. “It's safer there.” She nodded towards the kitchen. “I've never been good at healing magic, but I can wrap your wrist for you, Molly, and give you some tea that will lessen the pain.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly as they all began to move to the kitchen.

Isabella led her to a chair at her table and Molly sat down. Sherlock didn't sit, instead leaning against a counter, watching Isabella move around the kitchen. “He wants you two fighting,” she said as she began to set things up for the tea. “He wants you both unsettled and not thinking clearly. Whatever disagreements the two of you might have you mustn't do anything as idiotic as what you just did. You'll put yourselves in more danger that way and you'll play right into his hands.”

“Why does he want me so badly?” Molly asked.

“I don't think it's so much that he wants you as it is he knows Sherlock is the only one who has the ability to stop him,” she said. “If coming after you hurts him and sets him off his game then I think he'd rather kill you than collect you, and that's only if he doesn't drive you mad first.” She went to the stove and picked up her kettle before taking it to the sink, filling it up with water. “If Sherlock isn't successful then I think it will be a long time before there is another opportunity for him to be stopped, if there ever is.”

“I wish he would stop,” Molly said.

“At this rate he'll only stop either when he gets his way and you're his or when I'm able to stop him,” Sherlock said quietly. Then he turned to Isabella. “It's just going to get worse until the 31st, isn't it?”

“I would imagine so,” she said, taking the kettle back to the stove. “Above all else you two can't let disagreements get the best of you. Any chance he can find to foster a division between you he will, and if it causes you to do something foolhardy than so much the better for him.”

They were all quiet for a few minutes before Sherlock spoke. “Is Molly safer here or at her home?” he asked. Molly looked over at him sharply when he was done. “I just want to keep you safe, Molly.”

“I can add more wards to her home, but considering the queen is heavily invested in keeping the both of you safe her home is probably already better protected,” Isabella said, tilting her head slightly.

“Then in the morning we'll go back to her home and we'll stay put,” he said.

“Then let me get you more books and a few other things to help so you don't need to come back here until this is all over,” Isabella said. “After I tend to Molly, though.”

He nodded and then looked over at Molly before going over to the table and sitting next to her. “I promise I will not keep secrets from you anymore unless I am explicitly told not to by the fair folk,” he said quietly. “Anything I know I will tell you as soon as I know.”

She looked over at him, then reached over for one of his hands with her good one. “All right. Thank you, Sherlock.”

“You're welcome,” he said, and after a moment he gave her a small smile and got one in return. If what Isabella said was true they had to doubly be on their guard until this business was finished. He just hoped he could protect Molly well enough for that.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock did not go to sleep after Isabella tended to Molly and then showed him every book he could possibly get helpful information from. He went back to sorting all of the information he had absorbed and was up when the first rays of sun came at dawn. Quietly he went out the front door and stood facing the fence, watching as the boggart gave one last howl and disappeared in a puff of smoke. Satisfied the threat was gone he went back inside and waited for the others to wake up. Isabella woke up first a few hours later and looked at him. “If you don't sleep you'll be no good to anyone, least of all Molly,” she said.

“I absorbed the contents of nearly fifty books,” he said. “I had to sit there and sort all the information I got from them.”

She nodded. “I know most of those books will probably not help as much as the lore books you brought back and the ones still at her home, but any knowledge that could be remotely helpful should be learned.” She nodded towards the kitchen and he followed her. “I'm sorry I don't have coffee, but I can offer tea and breakfast.”

“I can go without coffee for the time being,” he said. He went back to the table and sat down as Isabella began to move around the kitchen. “I have a request or two. One for a few items and one for information.”

“Information I might freely give, depending on what it is you want to know,” she said. “The items are a different story. I might not be willing to give up anything important.”

He smiled faintly. “I was simply going to ask for some of your soap and shampoo to take back with me. I found it to work better than what I normally use.”

“Well, that I will willingly give,” she said with a smile of her own. “The bottle of shampoo I have in my washroom is fairly new so you can just take that and I'll make some more later today if I'm not too tired. And the soap I have plenty of.” She turned her attention back to gathering up the food for breakfast. “What information did you want?”

He was quiet for a moment. “When we first spoke you said you saw two futures for Molly and I, one where I lost her and another where I saved her. What happens if I don't save her?”

“Her future goes dark,” she said quietly. “You go back to London a broken man, and you aren't long for this world after that. You lose the will to live so you sink back into old habits, and that's your undoing.”

“And if I save her?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. “Well, the king's hold over this village is broken,” she said. “The mark that's on her breast will disappear and no woman in the village will ever get it again. The two of you go back to London for a time and then come back here to settle down, and you live a long and happy life together. I see children in your future, by the way. Three of them, twin daughters and a son. And everyone lives happily ever after.”

He studied her for a moment. She was keeping something from him. He had always been good at telling when someone was lying to him or withholding information. “Not everyone lives happily ever after,” he said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“You really are very astute, aren't you?” she said with a sigh. “No, not everyone lives happily ever after. And I'm fairly sure you know I don't mean the king.”

He was quiet for a few minutes. “You aren't going to survive this,” he said finally.

She nodded. “I've known this my entire life. I've known that this year, before Samhain, I will be gone. I don't know exactly how, whether it's by natural causes or the king getting exactly what he wants, but the day before Samhain I will be dead.”

“You've had a long time to accept this,” he said quietly.

“I have,” she replied, turning to look at him. “Most women in my family have known the exact day of their death. Sometimes we even know the circumstances, though not always. It's a curse of having the Sight. There may not be much we can tell about our futures, but that seems to be the one shining example. But I'm old, and it's not as though I didn't live a life of meaning. If I can help break the hold on this village them my death will have meaning.”

“Do you want Molly to know?” he asked.

“It's best if you don't keep any more secrets. Aside from what happens in your futures past Samhain, I think. She doesn't need to know what happens if you don't succeed, and I think it's best if the happy future is a pleasant surprise. But you may tell her about my death.” She went back to the food. “I'm leaving everything to her. It would have gone to Catherine, but seeing as she's with the fair folk there's no point. Molly is as close to me as blood, and if you're successful than it would be best if it stayed in the family, so to speak. Once I'm gone she may do with it what she wishes.”

“I think she'll be honored,” he said. “She'll be saddened, of course, but honored you left it to her.”

She nodded in response. “I think she will be, too.” Then she paused. “I'm debating leaving things to you as well. You will have all this knowledge in your head that she won't, and if you do get the queen's blessing then you may still have power when it's all said and done. But if you want nothing more to do with that side of things, I'll ask for them to be sent to people I trust who could use them.”

“Let me think on it a bit,” he said as he heard movement coming down the hallway. Molly appeared moments later, yawning. He gave her a small smile. “I think when we get back to your home I'll make you a pot of coffee.”

“That would be lovely,” she said, moving over towards the table.

“I'll send some of the tea home with you as well,” Isabella said. “To help with the pain.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. She sat down. “Could I ask you to do something for me?”

“It depends on what it is,” Isabella said.

“Could you do the spell for the eternal spring at my home, in my backyard?” she asked. “I would love to be able to go there when it's cold and have a place full of life.”

“It's a fairly intense spell, but I can come by tomorrow and do it when I add my own wards of protection to your home,” she said. “I just need today to gather the ingredients.”

“Thank you so much,” she said, her smile widening.

“Well, it's the least I can do,” she said. “Think of it as a parting gift.”

“Parting gift?” she asked, slightly confused.

“I was just telling Sherlock that I will not be around to see the outcome of all of this,” she said.

“But why?” she asked, her eyes widening.

“On the 30th I will die,” she said, stopping what she was doing and moving closer to Molly. “I've known this my entire life, Molly. I've known the day and the year since the day I was born. I've spent my whole life since I was fourteen preparing for this upcoming battle, and my part in it will be done before it happens.”

“But...” Molly began before trailing off.

“Molly, I have done so much in my life,” she said, gently, moving next to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Even with the heartbreak of losing my dear cousin and my daughter I have lived a good life. I've lived a meaningful life, and that's what's important.” She gave him a tender smile. “Don't mourn me too long. I'll finally be at peace.”

She was quiet for a few moments and then sighed. “It's not fair,” Molly said finally, looking up at Isabella.

“No, but it is going to happen, and you have every right to be prepared for it,” Isabella replied, squeezing her shoulder.

Molly placed her hand on top of Isabella's and squeezed it once. “Thank you for telling me,” she said softly.

Isabella nodded and then moved away once Molly let go of her hand. “Let's change the subject, shall we? I'm going to be giving you items that will help protect you until tomorrow when I can add my wards and I suppose I should go into detail about how they work.”

“All right,” Sherlock said with a nod. Molly nodded as well and then Isabella launched into what she needed to tell them as she cooked. When she was done the breakfast was ready and they ate in a slightly strained silence, and then both Molly and Sherlock changed into fresh clothes. Sherlock decided to leave the books Isabella had let him borrow that they had brought back since he had gotten the information from them and after getting the items and saying their farewells Sherlock and Molly made their way back towards her home. Molly looked incredibly sad and stayed quiet as they walked, and he left her to her thoughts. When they got back to her home he set the bags down. “Is there anything you want to do?” he asked.

“Have some of the flowers and then get actual rest,” she said. “Could you wait on going through my parent's room until I'm awake? I just...” She trailed off at that point, but he understood what she wanted and nodded. “Thank you.”

“I'll be here in the sitting room when you wake up,” he said.

“It should only be a few hours,” she said. “I'll make some of Isabella's tea and add the flowers to that.”

“All right,” he said. He went to his preferred chair and sat down while Molly went into the kitchen. He began picking up the books and letting the magic work. He'd gotten through three books by the time Molly left the kitchen, since he had been taking the time to sort the information before he moved to the next book. He continued to do that for each book and when Molly came back out he had gone through the last of them and was going over the information in his head. He looked up when he heard her sit down in the chair across from him. “Do you feel better?” he asked.

“I feel rested, but I don't feel better,” she said with a sigh. “She's so calm about it. I could never be that calm about knowing I was going to die in less than two weeks.”

“But as she said, she's known her entire life,” he said. “She's had many decades to accept that.”

“Did she say how she was going to die?” she asked.

He shook his head. “She doesn't know.”

“If I had to know the day I died I'd want to know the means as well,” she said. “It's only right.”

“I don't think I want to know much more about my future than I already do,” he said.

“What do you know?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

He was quiet for a moment. Isabella was right that if things went well Molly should have pleasant surprises to look forward to. But she did have a right to know the less specific details. “If we aren't successful then you will be taken away and I will be a broken man,” he said quietly. “I won't be long for the world after that.”

Her eyes widened. “But why?”

“I imagine that it will hurt too much if I was unable to save you,” he said thoughtfully. “I will have failed and you would have paid the price.”

“Do you know how you'll go?” she asked.

“Nothing overly specific, but based on what Isabella said I'll go back to drugs and I'll overdose,” he replied.

“That's a horrible way to go,” she said. “You'll probably be alone and in immense pain.”

“Probably,” he said with a nod.

She was quiet for a moment. “What about the good ending? I mean, if you save me?”

“Then we both go back to London and we live happy, fulfilling lives,” he said. “We both live until we're much older, and I don't think anything incredibly bad happens to either of us.”

“I really hope you're successful, not just for me but for you,” she said. “I don't want you to die that way, just as much as I don't want to leave.”

“I will do everything I can to make sure we both come out of this victorious,” he said. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Do we want to look through your parent's room now or do we want to have lunch first?”

“Let's go through the room,” she said. “I don't have much of an appetite at the moment.” He nodded and they both stood, making their way to her parent's bedroom. She opened the door and they stepped inside. “Where should we start?”

He thought for a moment. “I would say the heart of the home clue your mother left. What do you think could be the heart of the home?”

“I just assumed it was the bedroom itself,” she said. “I mean, it was where she was when she was happiest, sitting at the desk and writing.”

“Then let's start with the desk,” he said. He made his way over to the small desk and sat down in the chair as Molly hovered behind him. He opened up the rolltop part first, going through everything on it. Then he opened all the drawers next, going through the contents. As he went through each drawer he took the contents out and checked for false bottoms. After twenty minutes he sighed. “It's not here.”

“What was the riddle left on your nightstand again?” she asked, tilting her head.

“In the place where love abides, it is hidden in the chest of one most loved. When it is found, love will conquer all.”

Molly started to pace. “Well, I think the clue my mother left means the same things as the place where love abides. It means this bedroom. And...” Her eyes widened. “Under the bed.”

“Pardon?” Sherlock asked, frowning.

“My mother had a chest. My father carved it for her on their first wedding anniversary. It was too small to be considered a hope chest, but she told me when I was a young girl she kept her most special things there. My father loved my mother more than anyone in the world. It would be the chest of one most loved.”

His eyes widened. “The riddle meant a literal chest,” he said.

“Hopefully.” She went over to the bed and knelt down next to it. She scooted over more towards the other side as she looked, and then after a moment she reached under it and moved partially under the bed. Sherlock came over to her as she pulled out a medium sized chest. It was oak with ornate carvings all over it. She pulled it out on the bed and then frowned. “She put a lock on it.”

He picked up the lock and examined it. “I can pick this,” he said after a moment. “I'll be right back.” He went to the sitting room and moved to the coat rack, reaching into the pocket of his coat. He was quite thankful he always kept a pocket magnifier and a lock pick set in his pocket. He grabbed both items and then went back to Molly. He looked around. “I need you to shine a light on the lock so I can see what I'm doing.”

“I'll get the torch from the kitchen,” she said with a nod. She left as he began to look through the pocket magnifier to see exactly what he needed to do. She came back a few minutes later and stood at his side again, turning the torch on and shining it as the lock. The actual lock part was on the front of the lock as opposed to the bottom, and he began to get to work. After three minutes the lock opened. “You did it.”

“It wasn't that hard,” he said, removing the lock from the chest. Then he paused. “Perhaps you should open it.”

She nodded and moved the chest slightly. After a moment's hesitation she lifted up the lid. It was full of things that had sentimental value, he realized as Molly began pulling items out and setting them on the bed: letters, journals, craft projects that were obviously made by children...the types of things a wife and a mother would hold dear. When Molly got out the very last set of letters they both looked inside and saw a small leather bound book. It was green, just like the cofgada had said it would be. She reached in and pulled it out of the chest before handing it over to Sherlock. “Here.”

He took it and waited for the now familiar sensation of absorbing the information. But nothing happened. Frowning, he opened the book and saw blank pages. Then he sighed. “I can't absorb any information from the book and the pages are--” He cut himself off as, slowly, faint lines of script began to appear. “I can see writing,” he said quietly.

“I can't see anything at all,” she said. “What do you see?”

“It's in Gaelic,” he said. “And it's the same handwriting as the note that left us the riddle. But I can _see_ it.”

“That's good!” she said, giving him a smile. “Did you get the information from it?”

He shook his head. “No. It's the first book I've touched since yesterday evening that I haven't been able to do that with.”

“Well, if you can read the script then maybe you can run it through translation software,” she said. “It will take more time, but then you can understand what it all says.”

“That's a good idea,” he said with a nod. He closed the book. “You should put everything back in the chest while I start doing that.”

“I think I want to stay here and go through things,” she said. “Maybe it will help me feel closer to my mum.”

“I'll leave you in peace, then,” he said with a nod. He watched her sit on the edge of the bed before he left the room to go back to his bedroom. He went to the things he had brought with him and pulled out his laptop, plugging it in and booting it up. As soon as he could he pulled up the translation software he had installed on it ages ago. It took some time to input the first line of text in the book, and when he was done he looked at the translation and frowned. It was a riddle. He copied the text into his word processing program and then entered in another line of text. Once it was translated he saw it was another riddle. He sighed and then picked up the book again. This was going to be incredibly frustrating because they looked as though they were riddles with no obvious answers.

“Sherlock!” he heard Molly call from the bedroom. He quickly set down the laptop and the book and rushed to the bedroom. Molly was holding up one of the journals that had been in the chest. “Touch this.”

“This is your mother's journal,” he said with a frown.

“This is her journal about what she was working on with Isabella,” she said. “They all are. They go back thirty-five years.” She moved closer to him. “Do your thing with it.”

He gave her a quizzical look but took the journal from her. After a moment his palm warmed and the information came into his head in a rush. He blinked after a moment. “She had interactions with the queen in her dreams.” He set the journal down. “Hand me another one.”

She nodded and picked up another journal. He repeated the actions he had with the first one, and then repeated it each time she handed him a journal. By the time he touched the sixth one he had a fairly good idea of exactly what Isabella and Molly's mother had been doing. “What did you learn?” she asked.

“Your mother was Isabella's student,” he said. “She had a natural gift for magic. She did her lessons in secret but she was fairly proficient. By the time she got ill she knew just as much as Isabella did about what was to happen and how to stop it. And she knew someone or something was after her when she brought the book here. She was working on strengthening the wards when she was shot with a dart. She got ill soon afterward but she was able to hide the book and write that she knew it was important and it needed to be kept safe. This chest had a cloaking spell to keep supernatural forces from finding it. But that also meant people doing any type of locator spell wouldn't be able to find it either.”

“Did she know who shot her?” she asked, dazed.

He nodded slowly. “She was fairly sure it was the king of the fair folk himself. He did it from the boundaries of the property, but she was able to finish strengthening the wards before the effects of the poison started. He hasn't been able to step foot on this property in nine years.” He looked over at her. “Her last written words were that she was sorry she wasn't able to do more to protect you.”

Molly sat down on the bed again. “All this time and I had no clue,” she said. “No clue whatsoever.”

He paused for a moment, then stood by her and put a hand on her shoulder. “She cared for you very much. She wanted to make sure she could save you.”

She reached up and squeezed his hand. “That means quite a bit to me,” she said, looking up at him and giving him a smile.

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “It's going to take some time to take it all in, but I think if I read them myself it will help.”

“Then I'll leave you in peace to do that while I process this new information,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, letting go of his hand. He removed his hand from her shoulder and went back to the door, pausing long enough to see her go through the journals and find the oldest one. Once she began to read he left her parent's bedroom and made his way back to his own bedroom, settling in on the bed and going back to translating the book. He would translate the entire book and figure out every last riddle if it was the last thing he did.


	10. Chapter 10

Isabella came the next day to strengthen the wards that Molly's mother had put on the home and cast the spell for the eternal spring in the backyard. She had told Molly it wouldn't happen immediately but by the end of the week it would no longer look like it was fall. She'd made the spell extend all the way to the pond because she remembered Molly had enjoyed going there when she was younger. Molly had finished reading her mother's journals and she had asked to speak to Isabella about it when she was done with the spells. Sherlock had retreated to his bedroom to work on translating the book more to give them privacy, and when he came out to see if there was something for supper he found Molly looked more relaxed, even happier. She was at the stove, humming to herself, and when he came in she turned to look at him. “Any progress on the book?” she asked.

“Some,” he said. “I'm about a quarter of the way through it. The print is incredibly tiny and hard to read at some points. But it all appears to be riddles without any obvious answers.”

“But there's progress, which is good,” she said.

He nodded. “Yes.” He went over to the stove to see what she was cooking. “Another stew?” he asked.

She nodded. “I can make something else next time if you're tired of it. I mean, I know it's not a typical supper, but...”

“I've never really been a fan of stereotypical British suppers,” he said. “I think one of the few upsides of going around the world to take care of the threat Moriarty's organization posed was I got to try foods I probably wouldn't have otherwise.”

“Was there anything you especially liked?” she asked.

He thought for a moment. “Gumbo with very spicy sausage. I had that in New Orleans,” he said. “And I had to spend two weeks in Los Angeles and I ate a lot of Mexican food. There's a type of burrito there, a California burrito, which has steak and chips in it. That was surprisingly tasty.”

She made a face. “Who would want to have chips in a burrito?” she asked. “They're best with fish.”

“Well, I enjoyed it,” he said with a shrug. “You can always get a plain carne asada burrito. It's the exact same thing, minus the chips.”

“That sounds more appealing,” she said. “Was there anything you could make here in the UK?”

“I'm not sure. I could probably adapt a few foods, if I had the recipes. But it's usually a bad idea if I cook. I burn things beyond recognition.” He went to the drawer with the eating utensils and got out a spoon, then went to the stove again. He made to take a spoonful of the stew but she smacked his hand away. “I just want a taste,” he said.

“It's almost done,” she said with a smile, shaking her head.

“Very well,” he said with a sigh, going towards the table. “You seem to be in a better mood.”

“Isabella and I talked at length, about Mum,” she said. “She never realized my mum kept journals about everything, but once she realized I knew the full story she told me a lot of things I didn't know. It was nice to learn more about a side of her I didn't know. Isabella said she'd come over tomorrow and tell me more stories. She was quite worn out because of the spells.”

“It's good you get to learn these things now,” he said.

Her smile faltered slightly. “In less than two weeks I won't get the chance to anymore.”

“But you still have the journals,” he said. “You'll always have that to hold on to.”

“That's true, I suppose,” she said thoughtfully. “She and I talked about that a bit, too. She told me she was leaving everything to me. On the 1st of November everything is transferred over to me, and if....” She paused. “If it doesn't work out then it's split among other people who can use the things she owned.”

“I have more faith that things will be in our favor now than I did before,” he said. “We have more knowledge on our side now. It's just a matter of continuing to translate the book and attempting to suss out the answers to the riddles at this point. I think those riddles are going to be a key to winning.”

“Do you think you could put all that knowledge in your head to practical use?” she asked.

“Like perform magic?” he asked. She nodded. “I highly doubt I have the ability. The potions I could probably do, because that's almost like doing a chemistry experiment, but the rest? Probably not.”

“Well, maybe if the queen favors you you will,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he said with a nod. “I just don't know what I'd do with the abilities after all this. I mean, the fact I could probably do any of that at all would shock our friends. I honestly don't think I'll be sharing any of this with them when we return to London.”

“I hadn't even thought about that,” she said. “I've been avoiding contacting anyone in London because I have no clue how to explain what's going on. It's not like I can tell them there's the chance I'm going to be abducted by the fair folk and you've got special abilities to make sure that doesn't happen. They'd look at us like we're mental.”

He nodded. He wondered in his own mind if that was why he and Molly would settle down in the village if things went well for them, because then there would be less chance they'd have to explain the strange new world they'd found themselves a part of. The idea that he would have to keep secrets from his friends troubled him slightly, but Molly was right. There was no way John or Lestrade or Mary or Mrs. Hudson would ever believe them. “Then I suppose we'll just have to keep this between us,” he said finally.

“How are you going to explain your new ability?” she asked.

“I'm going to try my best not to,” he said. “If I am handed a book I'll flip through it and appear to be speed reading even after I know everything in it. Most people assume I do that anyway. They don't have to ever know just how fast I can read what's in a book.”

“Part of me wishes I could have that talent, but then I would miss the joy of reading books too much,” she said. “It's always nice reading for pleasure.”

“I've never really done that,” he said with a shrug. “But I have found one pleasant side effect to this new ability.”

“Oh?” she asked. “What's that?”

“If you ask me what's in a specific chapter or on a specific page I can pull it up exactly in my mind,” he said. “And then I can tell you what it says verbatim.”

“Isn't your brain going to get too full?” she asked with a slight frown.

“It hasn't so far and I've absorbed the contents of roughly seventy-five books in a two day span,” he said. “I mean, it _could_ happen, but that's part of the reason I have a mind palace. I can store large quantities of information there and access it at any time.”

“Well, hopefully you don't go mad from it all. I'd be very sad to see that happen,” she said, turning the heat off the stove. “We're almost out of homemade bread. I need to bake more tomorrow, especially since I want to have some on hand for the cofgada. I've taken to leaving him a slice and a bowl of milk every evening, and it's always gone in the morning.”

“He has been extremely helpful,” he said with a nod.

“Yes, he--” She abruptly cut off her sentence and he knew exactly why as his amulet grew hot. “It's not dark yet,” she said with a frown.

“Then this must be a different threat,” he said, standing up. He made his way to the front door with her right behind him and he opened it. The sun was almost down but there was still enough light to see a portly, balding man try and enter her property. Every time he tried to get off the road, however, the sheet of light came up. “Who is that?” he asked.

She moved out of the cottage and then her eyes widened as she turned to him. “That's Arthur!”

“Stay here,” he said, stepping out of the doorway. He cautiously made his way towards Molly's vehicle, and then he got closer. Arthur seemed to have a blank stare as he got closer, and Sherlock could see he had a knife in his hand. Every time he lifted the knife his hand was able to go across the property line, but when the rest of him attempted to enter he was rebuffed. He quickly made his way back to Molly. “He's got a knife.”

“Is he going to try and kill us?” she asked worriedly.

“I don't know,” he said.

“Yes, he is,” the cofgada said from behind them. To their credit neither of them started at him. “The king doesn't like that the wards have been strengthened and added to. He's trying to see if he can get past the new protections, and that knife might be his best hope. It's a bewitched knife from one of the less savory fair folk.”

“We need to get it out of his hands,” Molly said.

“Yes, but you need to do it in a specific way,” the cofgada said. “You first need to cast a spell to make it grow hot so he drops it, then you need to counter the bewitchment and send him on his way. Once he's left you need to get the knife and bring it here.”

“Neither of us know how to do that,” Sherlock said.

The cofgada fixed him with a hard stare. “It's in one of the spell books the human with the Sight shared with you. You can do it.”

“But I have absolutely no magical talent,” he countered.

“You've been touched by magic three times now,” the cofgada said. “By the woodland spirit, by me and by the woman with the Sight. None of our magic would have worked if you didn't have _some_ latent talent. So yes, you have magical talent. Now go do what you're supposed to do to stop him.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him before he began to walk back towards the road. “And nonverbally, too!” he called after him.

“You tell me I can do magic and then you expect me to do it without saying anything,” Sherlock muttered under his breath as he moved farther away from them. As he walked he began searching through the information in his mind as quickly as he could. He was able to find the spell to heat up the knife fairly quickly but the other spell took more time. By the time he got within a foot of Arthur he'd already begun to cast the first spell, saying it quietly under his breath. He wasn't sure it was successful until he saw the knife begin to grow red, and then Arthur threw it in his general direction. Sherlock stepped out of the way in time and then began to cast the second spell. When he was done he watched Arthur stiffen up like a board and then turn, walking away in a very wooden way. Sherlock watched for a moment and then went to pick up the knife. It was warm to the touch but not red hot anymore, and he carried it back to the cottage.

“Did he throw that knife at you?” Molly asked, her eyes wide. Sherlock nodded, and a second later she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “He could have hit you with it!”

“But he didn't,” he said, standing there. He wasn't about to embrace her back while he had a knife in his hands. After a moment she pulled away and he looked at the cofgada and handed him the knife. “Here.”

The cofgada shook his head and stepped back. “It's cold iron. I can't touch it.”

“If it's cold iron then how was one of the fair folk able to use it?” he asked.

“Halflings can touch cold iron because they're only part fair folk. They have all of our strengths and none of our weaknesses. While most are treated as rare and special gifts and in turn treat the fair folk with reverence and respect there are a few who are just plain evil. They do everything they can to destroy the fair folk. I'm fairly sure one of them bewitched that man and sent him here with the knife. Thankfully the wards held true.” He nodded towards the cottage. “We need to head out to the garden and take care of that. There's evil on that knife.”

“All right,” Sherlock said with a nod. Molly went back inside first and he followed, shutting the door behind him and locking it. The cofgada led the way to the back door of the cottage and then went into the garden once Molly opened the door for him. It was dark now, and Sherlock grabbed the torch from the wall. “What do you need us to do?”

“Dig a hole in the ground first,” he said. “I could do it on my own but we need it to be deep, and you can do that faster than I can. While he's digging, Molly, I need you to boil a pot of water while I gather the necessary herbs and plants to add to it. The larger the pot the better. And then I need silk to cancel out the effects of the cold iron.”

“I have a silk scarf in my bedroom from when I was younger,” Molly said.

“If it large?” the cofgada asked. She nodded. “That will be perfect then.”

“The spade is in the shed, on the wall,” Molly said to Sherlock.

“I'll get it,” he said. Then he turned to the cofgada. “Do you need the torch to see back here?”

The cofgada shook his head. “I know every inch of this property. I can find it all with my eyes shut. Start digging the hole quickly. For now leave the knife in the cottage.”

Sherlock nodded and handed the knife to Molly, who took it as though it was a live snake. She went back inside as he went to the shed. He shined the torch and saw the spade hanging up on the wall. Then he saw a shovel leaning against the side of the shed. He grabbed that instead and went back to the garden, laying the torch down on the ground with the light facing towards the path to the pond and he began to dig. He was still digging when Molly can back out. “I didn't realize we had a shovel.”

“I thought it would be easier,” he said, shoveling out more dirt. He didn't know how deep the cofgada wanted the hole but he was going to dig until he was told to stop.

“I can't believe you can actually do magic,” she said.

“Frankly I can't believe it either,” he replied. “If I hadn't seen the effects of both those spell actually work I'd have thought the cofgada was mistaken.”

“What was it like?” she asked.

He paused in his digging. “I didn't feel that different, actually. Just something that felt like a...” He tried to think of how to phrase it. “If felt like I was pushing energy at him.”

“I wonder if I could do it,” she mused.

“If your mother had talent I'm sure you do, too,” he said as he began digging again. “Perhaps Isabella can tell you if it would be possible tomorrow.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

They lapsed into silence as he continued to dig, and soon the cofgada rejoined them. “That's deep enough, William,” he said.

Sherlock stopped digging and leaned on the shovel as Molly picked up the torch. “Is there anything else I need to do?”

“You countered the enchantment. I need you to put the knife in the water while I add the other ingredients,” he said. “And you need to cast the spell.”

“What spell exactly?”

“The nullification of evil spell,” he said as he made his way back into the cottage. Sherlock and Molly followed and when they got to the stove the cofgada shut his eyes and then was on the counter, leaning over the pot of boiling water. He began to drop the handfuls of herbs and plants into the water, and then he looked over at Sherlock. “Drop the knife in and then start the spell. Do this one nonverbally as well.”

“Why do you want me to do it that way?” he asked, moving over to the knife.

“Because if you have to use magic against the king then it's best if he doesn't know what spell you're casting. It makes it harder to counter. Of course, he'll be doing the same thing, so there is that.” He stepped back as Sherlock grabbed the knife and brought it over to the pot. He dropped it into the water and they all watched as the water turned black. Once it was in he began to say the spell, and the water began to turn rust red. Finally he finished and looked up at the cofgada. “It should be rusted through now. Take the entire pot and dump it into the hole. Once the water cools fish it out and wrap it in the silk scarf and leave it on the counter. I'll come and get it once I confer with the queen where she wants me to take it.”

“Is there anything else we need to do?” Molly asked.

The cofgada shook his head. “The knife will be gone by the time you wake up in the morning, I promise. For now dump the water into the hole and then let it sit there until it's cool. I'd say give it about an hour to be safe.” He jumped down from the counter. “Remember to wrap the entire thing in silk, from the handle to the tip, and tie it in place. Only then can I touch it.”

“We will,” Sherlock said with a nod. The next moment the cofgada was gone and then he turned to Molly. “Grab the torch so I don't accidentally step in the hole and break my neck.”

She nodded and picked up the torch from the counter where she'd set it. Sherlock picked up the pot and they made their way out to the garden and to the hole. He knelt down and then tipped the contents of the pot into the hole, and a loud hissing noise filled the air as an acrid smoke billowed up out of the hole. “That smells life sulfur,” she said, and in the light of the torch he could see she was making a face.

“The sooner we get inside the better, then,” he said. They turned around and made their way back into the cottage, shutting the door behind them. Instead of sitting back down at the table Sherlock began to pace. “This is the second attempt to get to us in three evenings. He's ramping up this game of his.”

“Yes, but now we know you can cast spells,” she said. “With all the ones you know you can keep us safer, right?

“Theoretically,” he said. “We need to stay here from now on and not leave the property. Tomorrow when Isabella comes I'll ask her to come as often as she can to give me lessons. I may have the knowledge and some practice now but this is something I need to work on, especially if I have to cast them without saying them out loud. That makes it harder.”

She watched him pace for a few more moments before she stepped in front of him. “Take some time to eat, Sherlock,” she said gently. He stopped and looked down at her. Now that he thought about it he was starved and exceedingly tired. He nodded and then moved over to the table, sitting down. She went about serving him up a bowl of stew and when he got it he wolfed it down. He ate so quickly he was nearly halfway done with it by the time she had sliced the bread and brought it to the table. Her eyes widened when she saw the bowl. “It must have taken a lot out of you.”

“It has,” he said. “As soon as the knife is cool and we've wrapped it up safely I think I'll retire for the night.”

“Are you going to use the flowers?” she asked, going back for her own bowl of stew.

He shook his head. “I'll probably sleep for at least eight hours on my own, if not longer.”

“I can stay up and make sure the knife is taken care of if you're that tired,” she said with a frown.

“No, it's all right. I can stay awake for that long. I'd rather take care of it myself to make sure you don't injure yourself while dealing with it.” He had another bite of his stew. “You're more than welcome to wait with me, though.”

“I think I will just to make sure you stay awake,” she said. She took a bite of her stew. “Something tells me the threats against us are only going to get more serious as time goes on.”

“I agree,” he said with a nod.

“I hope we can counter whatever's thrown at us,” she said.

“I hope we can too,” he said quietly before concentrating on his food. While it was good that he was able to make use of all the knowledge in his head if it tired him out this much he was very afraid of what that might mean about his ability to keep Molly safe. If anything happened to her he wasn't sure what he would do, and so he had to try his level best to make sure he learned everything he could until Isabella was no longer there to teach him. That was the only way he could be absolutely sure he could keep Molly safe.


	11. Chapter 11

Isabella came to the cottage the next morning and agreed to help train him as much as she was able to for as long as she could. The lessons were hampered by the fact it wasn't safe for Isabella to travel while it was dark, but as soon as the sun began to rise she left her home and as soon as the sun began to set she returned home so they did have some time. The lessons were absolutely grueling, and Sherlock was bone tired by the time he ended up finishing his lessons the first three days. But gradually it became easier. And once Isabella constructed a stone circle and consecrated it he found practicing in it was easier. He was not quite as exhausted at the end of the lessons as he had been when he started.

Still, he felt as though time was running out. He only had until some point on the 30th before Isabella was no longer with them to learn as much as he possibly could. As that date quickly approached he was starting to worry that he wouldn't be ready by the 31st. It was now the 29th and he was taking a break with Isabella and Molly. They were having tea in the sitting room in between lessons. “You really are a quick study,” Isabella said to Sherlock after Molly had finished serving them. “I just wish I could give you more time to practice.”

“I wish I'd known I had the ability to do this earlier,” he said with a sigh. “Though I doubt an extra week or so would have made a more noticeable difference.”

“Well, I think with some luck you might be able to win,” Molly said with a slight smile. “I've seen you improve every day. It's very heartening.”

“I suppose,” he said with a nod. There was a knock at the door and he frowned, turning to Molly. “Were you expecting anybody today?”

She shook her head. “Just Isabella,” she said.

“I'll go answer the door,” he said, setting down his tea. He stood and made his way towards the door as whoever was on the other side knocked a bit more insistently. This was starting to irritate him. He got to the door and opened it, looking at a shorter woman with her hand raised to knock again. She was dressed in fairly expensive clothing with expertly applied make-up, and she had large sunglasses on her face. She pulled the sunglasses off and stared at him, and so he scowled slightly in response. “May I help you?”

“You're Sherlock Holmes,” she murmured. “Her taste in men has definitely improved.”

He glanced at the sitting room and saw Molly hang her head. Then he turned back to the woman standing there. “You obviously know who I am but I have no clue who you are,” he said.

“You mean my sister hasn't mentioned me? I'm hurt,” she said with a fake pout. “I'm Emily Hooper.”

He could hear Molly get up and come over to the door. “Hello, Emily,” she said in a resigned tone of voice.

“Hello, Molly,” she said. “Aren't you going to invite me in? After all, once upon a time this was my home, too.”

“Sherlock, let her in,” Molly said.

Sherlock moved out of the way so Emily could come in. She was in very high heels so she was significantly taller than Molly, and she took the opportunity to look down at her older sister. “So I guess the story the old women used to pass down was true after all. I mean, you _are_ thirty-five and it _is_ October. There would be only one reason you would come back here right now.” She leaned in. “Can I see it?”

“No, you cannot,” Molly said, her jaw clenching slightly.

“Don't get me wrong, I'll be sad to see you go. After all, you are the only family I have left. But there are a few things we need to settle before the 31st because I want to make sure you don't do anything like, oh, leave the property to someone that isn't me.”

“You are a cold and callous bitch,” Sherlock said under his breath.

“Excuse me?” she said, turning to face him. Even with her heels he was still taller than her, and he stared her down. She projected as much bravado as she could but he could see that she was slightly unnerved.

“I said you're a cold and callous bitch,” he said, moving closer. “You could have at least _pretended_ to feel sorry for your sister instead of acting this way. You're absolutely gleeful this has happened to her because it means you can finally erase all your ties to this village and your past. No family left, no childhood home...you'll probably milk your sister's disappearance for all it's worth to get sympathy. Once you have that you'll use it for your advantage and then you'll forget all about her unless it's convenient to remember.”

Emily looked shocked, and then she got angry. “Just because you're some world famous detective doesn't mean you know a damned thing about me,” she said, straightening up.

“Sherlock, it's all right,” Molly said quietly.

“No,” Sherlock said, shaking his head. “No, Molly, it is _not_ all right. You deserve to be treated better than this by your family.”

“Give us a few moments, all right?” she said to him, putting a hand on his arm. “Please?”

He looked over at her intently, and then sighed. “Fine. But I'll be nearby if you need me.”

“Let's go into the sitting room,” Molly told Emily. Molly led the way and Emily stopped when she saw Isabella. “We'll be just a moment, Isabella.”

Isabella looked at Emily, who had a smug look on her face. “If you upset Molly I will make you regret it,” Isabella said quietly, setting down her tea. The smug look quickly disappeared off Emily's face as Isabella stood and then moved towards Molly, patting her arm. “Sherlock and I will be waiting in the kitchen, dear.” Sherlock headed into the kitchen first with Isabella following him. He shut the door for a moment, then opened it a crack. He debated something for a moment and then quietly cast a spell under his breath. “Eavesdropping isn't nice, William,” she replied as she sat at the table.

“I want to ensure neither of us need to take steps,” he said before focusing on Molly and her sister's conversation.

“I want the house and the property,” Emily was saying. “I never understood why Mum left it to you alone instead of both of us, but with your upcoming disappearance I can do what I want with it.”

“And what do you want to do with it?” Molly asked, taking a sip of her tea.

“Tear it down and build a nicer place. A bigger place than this three bedroom shack. I'll get rid of the trees and the pond and I'll make this a place I can entertain clients at when I don't want to wine and dine them in London.”

“Please don't,” Molly pleaded.

“Why shouldn't I?” Emily said. “It's not as though I have any sentimental attachments to this place. It was always obvious our mother and father preferred you. Especially our mother. When it came to the three of us she loved Dad the most, then you, and then me. In fact, sometimes I wondered if she loved you more than Dad.” She leaned in. “What made you so special, Mousy Molly?”

“Please don't call me that,” she said, looking down. “I'm sorry you felt that way, but she loved you just as much as she loved me. You have to believe that.”

“We must have grown up in two different households, because that's not the way _I_ remember things,” she said. “You were always her favorite.”

Molly sighed. “I don't want to get into this now. You won't believe anything I have to say about it so there's no point.”

“All right, then let's talk about something else,” Emily said. “I was quite surprised to see the illustrious Sherlock Holmes here. Did he finally decide to see you as more than just his pet pathologist? Are you two having a wild fling before you get taken away?” There was a pause. “Is he as good in bed as it's claimed?”

“I'm not having that discussion with you,” she said a bit more forcefully as she looked up at her sister again.

“So you're _not_ shagging him?” Emily said in a surprised tone. “I'd have thought the only reason he'd be here was so you could get at least one pity shag before you went away. I have to say, I'm disappointed in you. I mean, you managed to land Tom, not that he was that much of a catch. He even agreed to marry you until you broke it off. I thought for sure you had at least a few feminine wiles to snag Sherlock Holmes.”

“We're friends. Nothing more,” she replied insistently.

“But you still want to be more,” Emily said as she leaned forward. “That pathetic crush you've harbored as long as you've known him is still there. You're going to spend the next two days pining after him and when you do disappear he'll be your one regret. I say start crying about your fate and then seduce him. Go out with a bang and not a whimper.”

He watched Molly straighten up slightly. “That's if I go,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Emily asked. “You're thirty-five, you have the mark. There's no way you're going to get out of this and you know it.”

“There might be,” she said.

“If Hell froze over, but other than that? I just don't see that happening.” She stood up. “Make sure I get the house and the property here. If not I'll bury whoever you decide to leave it to in legal proceedings until they're bankrupt, then I'll buy the property and do what I please with it. Have fun with the fair folk, Molly.” She moved out of the sitting room and went to the front door, opening it quickly and then closing it more forcefully than she really needed to.

Molly hunched over, covering her face with her hands, and Sherlock could tell she was sobbing. He wanted to go out and comfort her just as soon as he punched her sister in the face. He _never_ had the urge to hit a woman but it was so strong it was all he could do to keep himself in check. He tensed up until he felt Isabella's hand on his shoulder. “She's always been that way,” she said quietly.

“Emily?” he asked, turning away from the door and looking at her.

Isabella nodded. “Bitterness and resentment have taken residence in her heart for as long as I can remember. She was always convinced Molly was the most loved of the two of them, even though Norma really did love them both equally. Norma just knew this was coming when Molly turned thirty-five and she was doing everything she could to keep it from coming to fruition. Emily must have sensed that and convinced herself that her mother saw her as second best.”

“I want to hurt her very badly,” he said quietly. “Preferably physically.”

“Don't use your new found abilities to get revenge,” she said. “I have from today until whatever point tomorrow my life ends to ensure she regrets her decision to treat her sister so awfully. It will be my last gift to Molly.” She nodded towards the door then. “We need to take her mind off of all this. She doesn't need to be saddened right now when she's so worried.”

Sherlock didn't move to open the door for a moment. “I need your honest opinion about my abilities.”

She was quiet for a few moments. “You're good, but the king is better,” she said finally. “I'm not sure you'll beat him unless you get the queen's full blessing. If she chooses to give it, she will find you and you'll have a much better chance. If she doesn't...”

“If she doesn't Molly will be taken and I'll go back to dangerous habits,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “But William, take heart. The Queen has been visiting you in your dreams, telling you things. I think there is a very good chance she will ensure you get her blessing.” Then she moved closer to the door. “We should go comfort her before we go back to your lessons. She desperately needs it.”

“All right,” he said, opening the door. They made their way out into the sitting room and Molly sat up, quickly wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Sherlock came over and stood behind her chair, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Do you need anything, Molly?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “I'm fine. I'm all right.”

“No, you're not,” he said gently. After a moment he knelt down next to her. “She's a mean, spiteful woman and you don't deserve to be treated in that way. You deserve far better.”

“I do, but it doesn't matter now,” she said. “If you can't save me then she gets exactly what she wants and there won't be anything I can do to stop it.”

“I promise you I will do everything in my power to ensure you come out of this with your freedom,” he said.

“I know,” she said, reaching over and patting his cheek. Then she stood up. “I want to go sit by the pond for a while. I'll rejoin you when I feel better.”

Isabella came over and embraced her. “Take your time,” she said. “I'll be here for four hours yet.”

“Thank you,” Molly said when she let go. She made her way to the kitchen and after a moment they could hear the back door open and then close.

“I think today's visit was facilitated by the king,” Isabella said, moving back to her tea. “Keep a close eye on her tomorrow, William. I think he wants her to lose hope and this visit was just the start. Tomorrow is going to be harder on her because I will be gone as well.” She picked up her tea and took a sip. “Whatever you do, don't let her be the one to find me. I don't want to put her through that. Promise me you won't.”

“I promise,” he said with a nod, picking up his own tea. He glance back to the kitchen and hoped that if nothing else the two childlike spirits who lived by the pond would be there to help cheer her up because at the moment he had no clue if that was something he himself would be able to do, and she sorely needed it.


	12. Chapter 12

He had woken up the next morning with a sense of trepidation. Today was the day before Molly was to be taken, the day Isabella would die. He had a feeling that the day would be an especially hard one for Molly. It wasn't quite dawn when he woke up, and he made his way into the kitchen to make some coffee and think. He got out to the sitting room and saw Molly was already there, staring out of the window at the front of the cottage. “Do you think she's...?” she asked when he got closer, not looking away from the window.

“I don't know,” he said. “Perhaps.”

“I didn't want to think about it, but I couldn't stop,” she said. “And then I had a nightmare so there was no point in trying to sleep.”

“Did you try the flowers?” he asked.

She nodded. “I think the power in my amulet is wearing off. I got some of that restful sleep, but not enough.” She turned away from the window and looked at him. “What do you think is going to happen tomorrow?” she asked.

“I don't have any idea,” he said, moving over to sit on the other side of the window seat. “I'm fairly sure tomorrow there will be fighting of some sort, and something that would require me to have solved the riddles in the book, but other than that I don't know.”

She was quiet for a few moments. “Do you think you really have a chance to win?” she asked. “I mean, realistically?”

He looked at her and thought very hard before he spoke. He didn't want to lie to her but she still needed to have hope so he nodded. “I think with some more practice I may stand a chance of winning.”

“But not much of one,” she said quietly.

He was quiet for a moment after that. She had been hopeful until yesterday, until right before her sister paid her untimely visit. She'd had faith he could get her out of this predicament and he had been drawing on that faith to keep his own alive. “There is still a chance,” he said finally.

She sighed and stood up at that point. “I think I want to be alone for a while.”

He nodded and watched as she left the room. He turned back to window and watched as the world outside began to get brighter before he decided to see if Isabella was still with them. He went to his bedroom and got dressed quickly in some of the more casual clothing he had been wearing before getting his coat and leaving the cottage, locking up behind him. It looked as though there was the threat of rain, and he walked as quickly as he could to make sure he avoided it. He got to Isabella's cottage and knocked on the door, waiting impatiently to see if she answered. After a few minutes he heard the door unlock and Isabella opened it. “I'm glad you're alone,” she said with a nod as she moved out of the way so he could come.

“You requested she not be here, just in case,” he said as he stepped inside. She nodded towards the sitting room and sat down on the sofa. He, however, began to pace for a few moments before he stopped. “She's lost hope,” he said quietly. “Before her sister arrived she had _some_ hope, but now she has absolutely none. And I don't think anything I say will change her mind.”

“I was afraid of that,” she said with a sigh. “And sadly there isn't much you can do at the moment to reassure her.”

“There has to be _something_ ,” he said insistently.

She looked up at him intently. “In all this time, since you found out just how important your feelings towards her, have you considered telling her?” she asked. “Because if I was her and I knew that there was someone in my life who loved me and was going to do everything he could to save me that would help quite a bit. That would restore my hope.”

He moved over to the sofa and sat down. “Everyone has talked about how I feel about her,” he said slowly. “What if she no longer feels the same towards me?”

“It's plain on her face how she feels about you,” she countered. “Every time she looks at you, she shows it. Even when she's afraid or worried, when she looks at you she clearly shows that she cares for you greatly. She cares about you just as much as you care about her.”

“I hadn't noticed,” he said. “I should have, though, but I've never been good at anything related to that. I've lived almost my entire life without romantic attachments, and the last time a woman was attracted to me and I acted on it I was using her.”

“Did that woman ever look at you the way Molly does?” she asked.

“I wouldn't know. I paid the bare minimum of attention to how she looked at me. That wasn't important for the plan I had.” He leaned forward and set his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands in front of his face. “I do feel strongly towards Molly, though. I don't know if I'd say I love her, but I care greatly.”

“Oh, William,” Isabella said gently. “Just as anyone can plainly see that she loves you it's equally obvious you feel the same way towards her. Why would you be doing this if you didn't? Would you have done this for John? Or for your detective friend? Or your landlady? Would you have attempted to help them without believing a word they said?”

He thought for a few moments. “I suppose not,” he said. “But she can't possibly love me. I have nothing to offer her.”

“Yes, you do,” she said. “You have quite a bit to offer her.” She reached over and squeezed his hands. “Don't be afraid that she won't reciprocate. If you're a coward about it there's every chance you'll lose her in the end, and you'll regret that for the rest of your life, however long that might be.”

He turned and was about to respond when Isabella's gaze went back. “Isabella?” he asked with a frown.

“I must go,” she said in a tone he had never heard her use before. Her voice sounded detached, as if she wasn't in control of what she was saying. She stood up and walked towards the kitchen, with him right at her heels.

“Go where?” he asked, moving in front of her. “Isabella?”

“I must go,” she said as she moved around him. She was determined to get to the rear of her cottage. He was beginning to panic. He'd expected her to die. He hadn't expected her to fall victim to an enchantment. Her wards were supposed to protect against that. They got to the door leading to her backyard and she opened it. He reached over for her shoulder to spin her around but she made a motion with her hand and suddenly he was immobile, staring outside as she took a step outside.

“Isabella!” he called over. Whatever she had done to get him not to move he had no idea how to reverse it. He was running through everything in his head as he watched her walk to her stone circle and step inside.

“I must go,” she said, turning to face him. As soon as she turned he could see the stones begin to glow, and she gave him a wide smile before she was enveloped in a column of bright white light that nearly blinded him. When it dissipated he looked back and saw she was nowhere to be seen.

He found he could move again, and he rushed over to the circle, examining it. There was no sign she had been burned alive, no ash at the center of the ring. He knelt down and touched one of the stones. It felt warm to the touch, and then he realized he felt something. There was an energy in the air, as though some magic far more powerful than he could comprehend had been performed. As he stood the only thing he felt he knew for sure was that whatever had done this had not had an evil intent. If that had been the case she doubted he would have looked pleased at the end.

He left her home a few minutes later, walking back to Molly's cottage with a multitude of thoughts in his head. He was running through his final conversation with Isabella. Everything seemed to hinge on the depths of his feelings towards her, and if he wanted to be completely honest with himself he knew he loved her. And he also knew he should tell Molly exactly how he felt, regardless of whether she felt the same. She had every right to know. But there was also a bone deep fear in him that she would reject him, that he would put himself out there only to find that Isabella was wrong. He debated it the entire time he walked back, and he still hadn't made a decision about what to do by the time he got back on Molly's property.

He went to the door and knocked on it. He hoped that Molly heard him from wherever it was in the home she was, but if it came down to it he still had his lock picking kit in his coat pocket. After another few minutes he knocked again. “Molly?” he called out.

He heard the door unlock shortly thereafter and Molly opened it. “You went to Isabella's, didn't you?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” he said with a nod as she moved out of the way for him to come in. “She's gone now.”

She frowned at that. “Gone?

“Someone with powerful magic took her,” he said. “It was similar to what had happened with Arthur, when he came here with the knife.”

She looked slightly panicked. “It had to be the king. He'd managed to bewitch Arthur, he could do it to her. Her wards weren't strong enough. And our wards probably aren't strong enough either.”

“I don't think it was him,” he said. “At the end, Isabella seemed happy to leave.”

She gave him a confused look. “Why would she be happy?”

“I have no clue,” he said. “She didn't say much before she left, just 'I must go.'”

Molly went to the sitting room and sat on the sofa, and he came in as well, though he stood instead of sitting. She looked up at him after a moment. “Did she tell you anything that helped before she was taken?”

He hesitated. He still wasn't sure he should tell her. Finally he shook his head. “No, she didn't.”

Molly looked dejected. “That wasn't what I'd hoped to hear.”

He moved closer to her. “There is still the chance--” he began, but she held up her hand and shook her head, and so he stopped.

“We don't have help anymore. It's been a long while since the cofgada spoke to us. Isabella is gone. And if this is a battle, like Isabella said it was going to be? You have no way to protect yourself, much less me. All you have is a book of riddles you can't make heads or tails of. It isn't going to work. I'm going to be taken and there's nothing you can do to stop it.”

He didn't want to get irritated with her but the fact she thought he wasn't going to be successful grated on him. “If you truly feel that way then yes, I probably will fail,” he said quietly. She looked at him sharply and he regretted saying those words the moment they left his lips. “Molly...”

She stood up again. “I'm going to go to the pond and walk around the property one last time.” He wasn't sure what else to do aside from nod and move out of her way. He turned to watch her make her way to the kitchen and the door leading out to the back. He heard it open and then close again and the instant she was gone he began berating himself in his head. All he had done was drive the very last bit of hope she had left away. He should have told her the truth. He should have shown her just how much he cared for her. And now he got the feeling it was too late.

He stood there in the sitting room for a time before he decided to hell with it. Even if she really didn't believe he was going to save her he was going to do every last thing he could to do just that, and he was going to start with that book. He went to his room and sat on his bed, picking up the book. Every time he had touched it he had not gotten the sensation in his fingers and palms, and no information had flashed in his head. But he still knew every riddle in the book because he'd run through them a million times in his head, trying to make heads or tails of them.

After an hour he began to feel drowsy, and so he set the book back on his nightstand and laid down in his bed. After a moment he shut his eyes, and almost immediately he found himself at a large clearing. Standing in front of him was the woman he had seen glimpses of in his dreams since he had received the amulet. She moved over to him, walking with all the grace appropriate for royalty. “Do not give up hope, William,” she said in a voice that was louder than the whispers from the other dreams. “When all is said and done, you shall have my favour.”

“You're the queen of the fair folk,” he said quietly.

She nodded and gave him a wide smile. “Yes. You learned much under Isabella's tutelage, but there is still more to learn. And I need to gift you with the proper equipment to go into battle with my husband.” She stood in front of him and he saw she was just as tall as he was. She stood on her toes and kissed his forehead, and he felt a sense of peace settle over him, peace he hadn't known for many years. “Rest now, William, and be at peace.”

He nodded as she pulled away. “What about Molly?” he asked.

“Her heart will be eased, but not yet,” she said. Then she turned. “Rest now. You will find me soon enough.” With that she shimmered and then was gone. He saw the clearing fade away into a bright white light and then he sank into a dreamless sleep. He woke up many hours later, surprised he had slept so long. But he felt utterly refreshed, even more than he had when he had used the flowers to get rest. He also didn't feel hungry, which considering he hadn't eaten since supper the night before was surprising. It took him a moment before he realized it was dark outside now, and rain was pouring down on the roof. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and saw it was nearly seven at night. He got out of bed and stretched for a moment before heading out into the hallway. He needed something to eat but he also hoped Molly was back and they could talk.

Sherlock saw her sitting on the sofa in the sitting room, a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass on the table in front of her. He had seen that bottle when they first arrived and it had been nearly three quarters full. As he moved closer he saw it was now no less than half empty. She looked up when she heard him enter the room and then tipped back her shot into her mouth. “Tomorrow she'll get what she wants,” she said, gesturing around the room. “Tomorrow this will all be hers, and then it will be gone.”

She was still mulling over her sister's visit the day before. He would often speak ill of people who deserved to be spoken ill of, but since Emily was the last bit of family Molly had left he held off. There was a lot he _wanted_ to say, of course, but it was more directed at Emily than Molly. Still, he figured Molly wouldn't want to hear it while she was in this state. After, though... And then he shook his head. He didn't _want_ to think of an after. He didn't want Molly to go. “Perhaps,” he said finally.

She snorted. “You aren't going to save me. You've got absolutely nothing.” She poured herself another shot and then studied it. “If I hadn't called off my engagement to Tom I wouldn't have been picked. The king goes after women who aren't loved. He loved me and I let him go because he got jealous. He got so jealous. But even if I was in a miserable marriage I'd have been safe.” He honestly didn't even know how many drinks she'd had at this point to be having those thoughts, but they worried him.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he said with a sigh. There was quite a bit about this whole situation that smacked of the interference of some higher power, whether it was the queen or the king or simply preordained fate, manipulating all of them like they were on some cosmic chess board. Maybe Molly's relationship had been doomed to fail because he needed to be involved in this whole affair. If her relationship with Tom had continued she might not have turned to him because Tom had done all he could to push him out of Molly's life. After all, he was competition in Tom's eyes. Tom would have been a fool to not realize that, even if he hadn't wanted to pursue anything with Molly at the time. And now that he did it was too late.

“It ended because of you, you know,” she said, looking at him intently. “He didn't want me to have anything to do with you outside of autopsying the bodies that came into the hospital. And even then I think he wanted me to not deal with you personally. Every time I mentioned you he got really angry. Don't know why. You have no interest in me. Never have and never will.” She finally realized she had a shot in her hand and drank it, then quickly began pouring herself another one.

“Maybe you've had enough,” he said, moving over towards her.

“Take this shot out of my hands and I will disembowel you with a dull spoon,” she said, glaring at him. He stopped moving and watched her take the drink and bring it to her lips. She tipped her head back and swallowed it. “What does it matter if I'm hung-over? Come tomorrow evening I'm going to be gone. It's not like you're going to be able to save me.”

“I'm trying,” he said, gritting his teeth slightly.

“Well, you should have tried _harder_ ,” she snapped. “You're the most brilliant man in the world and you let me down.”

“You told me you were going to be thankful I tried,” he said, his irritation rising. “Do you think I want to lose you? I'm doing every last thing I can to try and save you. Hell, I'm considering trying to make my own damn deal.”

“Don't you dare,” she said, her eyes wide as she slammed the shot glass down on the table. “Sherlock, don't you _dare_ do that.”

“Why not? You have more to offer the world than I do,” he said. “I may be a genius but I don't care about anybody or anything.”

“You care about me,” she said quietly. “You wouldn't be here if you didn't.”

“But I don't care enough,” he said, and he regretted saying those words the minute they left his mouth. If it was at all possible she looked even more dejected and he cursed his choice in words. He had meant to say that even though he cared about her more than he really wanted to admit it wasn't enough. And now he had hurt her and that had been the last thing he wanted to do. He took another step closer. “Molly...”

“Don't,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just...leave me alone. Let me drink in peace and maybe I'll die of alcohol poisoning before tomorrow.”

“But...” he began again.

“I said don't!” she yelled, moving her hands to cover up her ears. “I don't want my heart broken any more tonight. Just get out. Go somewhere else. Anywhere else. I don't care. Just leave me alone.”

He took a step back. He could easily go to his room to leave her in peace. But he had to move. This cottage was too small, and he was starting to feel like a caged animal. He needed to get out, to move, to escape. To run away. Because that was all he ever did. He ran away. Yes, he was taking care of problems, but he left. He left behind everything and everyone he cared for, and he usually did it without a second thought. And on the _one occasion_ he didn't want to leave he was being pushed away. He turned and left, walking straight to the back door and not even bothering to get his coat. It was pouring down rain but he didn't care. If he got ill he damn well deserved it.

He didn't have a destination. There were no close neighbors to Molly aside from Isabella, and now that Isabella was gone there was no point in going there. He was walking to walk, and belatedly he hoped he could find his way back. He hadn't even thought to bring a torch. Maybe he'd be _really_ lucky and injure himself so badly that he wouldn't have to watch Molly leave this world tomorrow, he thought to himself. He could just be somewhere else and wait for sunset far away from her like the coward he was. And he was a coward. If it hadn't been for his own damn fear of being rejected maybe something could have developed. It might have ended, it might not have, but damn it he could have _tried_ and he hadn't. He'd simply let fear dictate his life.

He wanted to stop thinking but he couldn't, and so he tried hard to focus on things that weren't his thoughts: the cold seeping into his bones, the drops of water falling from his hair into his face, the relentless roar of the pouring rain, punctuated every so often by rolling thunder or a flash of lightening. He wandered aimlessly until he saw light in the distance. It didn't look as though it was the light from a torch, nor did it look like the light from a home. And there shouldn't have been anyone out here anyway. After a moment's indecision he made his way over towards the light.

As he got closer he saw it was as though it was practically daylight in a small clearing he had never seen before. He'd had more encounters with fair folk than he'd thought possible in the last twenty days, but to see something like this with his own two eyes was astounding. There was a large round wooden table in the center of the clearing, and dancing around it to some of the most beautiful music he had ever heard were attractive females wearing elegant clothing of many different styles. Much of it barely covered them, being made out of gauzy material, but they were clothed nonetheless. Most of the women who were dancing had red hair, but the women sitting around the table all looked wildly different. Some were short, some were tall. Some were fat and some were thin. They had different hair and eye colors and were different ethnicities. They too had fine quality clothing, though theirs was more modest. He was surprised to see Isabella among them, but pleased as well. And sitting directly across from him, in a slightly raised seat, was the woman who had spoken to him in the dream this afternoon and given him peace. After a moment she stood and raised her hands, clapping once, and the dancing and music stopped. “William. I see you have found us. Join us,” she commanded. 

He knew if he attempted to leave she would make him pay, so he moved into the bright sunshine. Instantly his clothes, body and hair were dry and he was no longer cold. “Your majesty,” he replied, bowing his head slightly.

“I am the queen of the fair folk,” she said with a smile. She beckoned him to come closer. “And these women are some of my court.” One of the women sitting to her left stood up and she gestured to the now empty seat. “Come. We have much to discuss and not much time to discuss it.”

He made his way around to the seat next to her and sat down. “What do you want to discuss?” he asked, looking over at her.

“I want to be sure of something first,” she said. She leaned towards him slightly and put a finger under his chin, tilting his head up. She looked at him intently and he could feel a gentle presence in his head. She was studying him by more than just looking at him, and he bristled slightly. “Don't fight me, William. It will only take a moment. More if you fight.”

He forced himself to relax, ignoring the presence in his mind. Finally she pulled her finger away from him and he felt the presence recede. “And just what did you see?”

“The woman my husband plans to take tomorrow. You love her,” she said quietly. “You love her enough to have contemplated making a deal with us, your life in exchange for hers. No woman that my husband has taken has ever had anyone willing to make such an exchange since the first woman. The woman’s sister was young and foolish, sacrificing a stranger as opposed to herself. If the youngest sister had offered herself neither would have been taken and the eldest sister's boon would have been granted. And if she had let her sister be taken that would have been the only time it happened. But my husband wanted to toy with the humans of this village. He can be cruel when he chooses to be.”

“And you?” he asked.

“I can be as well,” she replied. “The women at this table...they are the women he has taken for the last three hundred years. They're allowed one night in the world of the humans, the night before he gets a new concubine. At that point their appeal has worn off and he has tired of them. They become my property after that.”

“And how do you treat them?” he asked curiously.

“Far better than my husband does. I make sure they are as happy as they can be in this situation. They become the handmaidens for me and my court. A few have even become friends and advisers. I cherish them because my husband did not. I have been jealous of them, I will admit that, but I never hurt them. They did not deserve to be brought to our lands, and yet here they are. For most it is a better life, but not always.” She nodded to the woman to her left who had given up her seat for him. “Catherine...she was taken away because her grandmother angered my husband. Her grandmother broke the agreement her family had with me for their Sight. And so in the generation Catherine is from my husband chose her to spite her grandmother. But he didn't give her the mark. He just took her. I cannot abide by that. It was not his place to punish them that way.”

“That is why Isabella worked so hard to get me to break this curse,” he murmured.

The queen nodded, turning to look at Isabella and giving her a wide smile. “She had seen you and knew she had to guide you in the right direction. And I felt bringing her to her daughter for the rest of eternity was a just reward for aiding my best interests.”

“I suppose it is,” he said with a nod.

“To return to what I was saying before, your feelings for the woman are quite strong. They speak loudly to anyone with the ability to hear the song of the heart,” she said as she turned back to him.

“But are my feelings for Molly enough?” he asked.

“Catherine had a man who loved her, who wanted to marry her. But his love wasn't strong enough to break my husband's hold on this village. But Isabella could see your love would be strong enough when she used her Sight to see what the future held. Why else would a skeptic like you agree to help a woman he didn't believe if not for love?” Then she turned back to Catherine, reaching over and patting the woman's hand gently. “My husband tried to force Catherine to use her Sight. She refused. He tired of her more quickly than the others, but he also hurt her more than the others in retaliation, and when he was done he literally tossed her my way. I tended to her, took care of her, made sure she could recover from his abuse. And she thanked me by letting me make use of her gifts. She saw what her mother had seen, that you were coming and that you would be able to break the curse that foolish young woman laid on the entire village so long ago.”

“But how?” he asked. “I have no idea what to actually do.”

“Confusion disturbs you greatly,” she said with an amused smile. “Fortunately I can clarify matters.” She turned again and beckoned him to come closer, handing him a goblet when he got close enough. He looked at it warily and she laughed again. “It will only temporarily bewitch you. It will make you invulnerable to any illusions my husband can throw at you. When the clock strikes twelve and Samhain is over the abilities will melt away, like they were never there.” He nodded, then raised the goblet to his lips and drank. “Drink it all, William.”

He did as he was told, and then he set the goblet down. He heard a faint humming in his ears and his body felt even warmer than before. “Is that all I will need?” he asked.

She shook her head. “You need knowledge as well. Specific knowledge that were not in all the books you have gleaned knowledge from. Knowledge that will make you my husband's equal,” she replied. Then she paused. “You collect knowledge and store it in your mind palace. You may keep this knowledge when all of this is over, but just know you will only be able to access it in times of great danger. It will remain locked away in your mind palace until you have dire need of it, as will some of the knowledge imparted on you by Isabella. The basic spells and some of the other information you will be able to access at any time, if you choose to continue down that path. And as you are gifted, I would encourage it.”

“I can live with that,” he said.

“You'll have to,” she murmured as she motioned for him to come closer. Once he got close enough she leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead. He shut his eyes as glorious knowledge filled his head. There was so much information there: spells, fighting techniques, secrets he knew no mortal should really know...it was all sitting there within his grasp. When she pulled away she looked at him. “Don't get drunk with this power, William. At the moment Samhain is past it will be locked away unless you absolutely need it, and even then you will only get what you need most.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, beginning to stand up.

“Ah ah ah, William. Two more things,” she said, and so he sat down again. She clapped once more and he saw the woodland spirit he had befriended came forth with a long case. She gave him a wide grin before she handed him the case. “Inside this case is a magic sword,” she said. “It is not an iron sword, because even warded iron poses a threat to those of us who are fair folk. And it would cause considerable damage to any of us should we accidentally get hurt. But if you hold it and your intent is to save someone else, you will be able to wield it against anyone who is fair folk and hurt them without poisoning them with cold iron. You will need it to defeat my husband.”

“I will use it well then,” he said with a nod as the woodland spirit handed him the case.

“And the last thing, William,” she said. She clapped one last time and this time the water spirit who lived in the pond waved at him and then hurried close to him, holding a silver chain. When he looked closely he saw there was a ring on it, and then he leaned in to have a closer look. It was silver and it had inscriptions on it in a language similar to the one on the pendant Isabella had given him. The water spirit dropped it on his palm and then went back to her friend. Then he looked back up at the queen. “Wear this ring when you accompany the human here tomorrow. When you have need of it, you will be encased in faerie armor. It will be as light as a feather and as hard as a diamond. Because make no mistake, tomorrow is a battle. You will not just be battling for your human love but the fate of this village as well.” He took it off the chain and slipped it onto his finger, realizing it felt warm against his skin. “Do well with the gifts I have given you.”

“Thank you, once again,” he said as he stood.

“It is time for us to leave and for you to return to the woman you love.” She stood up, and the others followed suit. “Go now, William. We will light your way back to her home.” They began to walk away in front of their queen, but then she paused and turned to look at him. “And William?”

“Yes?” he asked.

“Reread the book I gave Isabella. It will make sense now.”

He nodded and walked around the table. The minute he stepped out of the clearing full of light into the much drier and lighter night he saw a blue orb of light in front of him, and then another in front of that. As he took a step the closest orb blinked out and another one appeared in front of the remaining one. He took a few more steps and then turned to look behind him. The clearing was dark now, and there was no table and no fair folk. After staring for a moment he turned back and began making his way back to Molly's home, following the lights. It took him some time, but finally he saw the lights on in the windows. He shifted his hold on the case and made his way to the door, turning the knob. It was unlocked, and he let himself in, shutting the door behind him.

“Oh my God, Sherlock!” he heard Molly say, and before he realized it she had thrown herself at him. He was surprised but with the case in his hand he couldn't actually embrace her back. Finally she pulled away. “It's been ten hours! I called people in the village and no one had seen you, and you were out in the rain and you didn't have your coat and I'm so so sorry I pushed you away.”

He set the case on the floor and looked at her intently. She looked as though she had been frantic in trying to find him. And he had been gone for ten hours? It felt more like one. Two at most. “Ten hours?” he asked.

She nodded. “It's five in the morning. I tried to call for a search party for you, but with the rain everyone refused.”

Time really did move differently with the fair folk, he realized. “I'm sorry I worried you,” he said quietly.

“I'm just glad you're not hurt. I don't know what I would have done if you'd gotten hurt because of me,” she said. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I'm so glad you're all right.”

He glanced down at her hand and he moved his hand away. When he looked back up he saw she had a frown on her face and she looked hurt. He didn't want to make her frown anymore. He didn't want to hurt her anymore, and now that they had a chance of winning her freedom he knew he needed to stop being a coward. He stepped forward and touched her face gently. “I need to tell you something, Molly.”

“What is it?” she asked, looking slightly confused.

He ran his thumb along her cheekbone. There was so much he wanted to say and yet right now he couldn't say a word. But he needed to tell her. He needed her to know exactly how he felt. Finally he just decided to show her, and he closed the gap between them and kissed her instead. She was surprised for a moment, but then she placed her hands on his chest and curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt as she kissed him back. He moved his hands to her waist and pulled her as close as he could get, kissing her gently until they both needed to breathe. “I should have done that a long time ago,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

“Yes, you should have,” she said, moving her hands to touch either side of his face. After a moment she leaned in and kissed him again, a more passionate kiss than before. He moved his hands around to keep her close, and she slid her arms higher so that she could put her arms around his neck, pressing herself so close that he wasn't quite sure there was any space left between them. After a moment she took a step backward, and he followed, trying not to let go of her. After a few steps, though, she pulled away and frowned. “Walking and kissing at the same time is hard.”

“It would be easier if we moved someplace else and then went back to the kissing,” he said with a grin.

“I can agree to that,” she said, giving him the widest smile he had ever seen her face in the entire time he had known her. She reluctantly pulled away from him and offered him her hand. He reached over to grab it and she led him down the hallway towards the room she was staying in. When they got inside she stopped and pulled him close, kissing him again. This kiss was even more heated than the last one and there was no denying that she wanted him as close as she could get him, especially when she began to unbutton the shirt he had been wearing. He could tell her hands were shaking as she did it. She pulled away for a moment. “I'm actually rather nervous,” she said.

“I am too,” he admitted. “It has been a very long time for me.”

She nodded as she got his shirt undone and let it fall open. She ran her fingertips down his chest and abdomen before moving back up to push the shirt off his shoulders. He helped get it off and then reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it up. When he got it high enough she lifted up her arms and he pulled it off. He reached behind her to undo her bra and after he was done he slid the straps off her arms, placing a kiss on one of her shoulders as he did. She stepped closer to him once it had fallen to the ground and then placed a hand on either side of his face before leaning in to kiss him again. He reached for her, putting his hands on her waist and then sliding his hands around to the small of her back to get her as close as he could. She could feel her smile slightly beneath his lips before she pulled away. “I’ve thought about this,” she said. “I mean, us doing this. Not so much once you left, but before.”

“And how is it so far?” he asked.

“I would say so far it’s exceeding expectations,” she said, her smile widening. “You really are a good kisser.”

“Hopefully I will continue to do so,” he said before moving his hand slightly to lower the zipper on her skirt. After a moment he got it low enough and then she took a step back, moving her hands to push it off her hips. They fell to the ground, pooling at her feet, and she reached between them and moved her hands to the waistband of his trousers. She undid the button and then lowered the zipper, and when she was done she pushed them down. He stepped out of them when she got them low enough before moving to pick her up. She grinned up at him, putting her arms around his neck, and he carried her over to the bed and gently set her down on it, hovering over her slightly. “You look stunning.”

She blushed at the compliment, and then motioned for him to come closer. He did and she reached up to pull him in for another kiss. She kept it brief. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said when they were done.

He grinned back at her and then moved down slightly, pressing a kiss at her pulse point. She tilted her head back to give him more access as she moved her hands to his back. He nipped at the skin lightly and she shuddered, digging her nails into his shoulder slightly. He moved away from her neck after a moment and then made his way lower, exploring as much of her as he could. The lower he moved the more she arched up to meet his lips, and as he got to her naval she had moved her hands to his hair, tangling her fingers in it slightly. He pulled away at that point and moved his hands down to her knickers, hooking a finger in the waistband. She lifted her hips up and he slowly pulled them off of her, leaving her completely nude.

When he was done he moved over to her again, though lower this time, and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. She spread her legs a little more as he made his way higher, and when he got to her core he began to tease her with his tongue. She gasped at first but it quickly turned into a moan, and she reached down again, tangling her fingers in his hair. He added a finger soon after, then a second, and she began to writhe under his ministrations. “Sherlock,” she moaned, tightening her hold slightly. Soon after he felt her tighten around his fingers and then she came apart. He only moved away when she relaxed, and she looked up at him with a completely sated look on her face. “I didn’t even know you knew how to do that,” she said, watching him stand up and strip out of his pants.

“I know how to do quite a bit,” he said, moving over her again. “Am I still exceeding expectations?”

“Most definitely,” she said with a nod. She spread her legs more and he positioned himself before slowly entering her. She arched up slightly, digging her nails into his back harder than she had before. He pulled out slightly and then thrust into her again. He had time to please her, time to savor this. He wanted to make sure she was pleased, and even though there wasn’t nearly enough time left to spend together he would make this moment count. He began to work up a rhythm, slowly going faster and thrusting deeper. “Please,” he heard her say soon after he had picked up the speed of his thrusts. “Sherlock, please.” He nodded slightly and increased the rhythm more, and soon he was driving into her hard. She held onto him tightly and soon he could feel her tighten around him. Seconds later she orgasmed, and after one last thrust he stiffened up and had his own release.

They were both breathing hard, and after a moment she moved her hand to touch his face gently. He leaned in and kissed her, and the kiss was soft and longer than their last one had been. They only pulled apart when they needed to breathe, and he after he shifted to pull out of her he rested his forehead against hers. “I will do anything to keep you safe,” he said quietly. “I will even give up my life to do that, if it comes down to it. And I will do it because I love you.”

“I love you too, Sherlock,” she said softly. She pulled him in for another kiss, and this one had the feel of sealing an agreement to it. He knew now, knew that she truly did feel the same way about him that he did about her, and he would keep that at the forefront of his thoughts until he needed to do whatever it took to save her. He would hold onto it for the rest of his life, regardless of what happened, and he would cherish it.


	13. Chapter 13

He woke up slowly, very much aware of the fact that he was not in bed alone. He was on his back and Molly was pressed against his side, her head on his chest. He shifted his position slightly so he could run a hand along her waist. He wanted to stay as close to her as he could for as long as possible. Sooner than he would have liked she woke up, lifting her head up. “Hello,” she said with a smile.

He grinned back at her. “Hello,” he replied.

Her smile widened as she ducked her head down. “I can't believe we did that.”

“You don't regret it, do you?” he asked, frowning slightly.

“No. Absolutely not,” she said, lifting her head up and shaking it. “I just don't normally _do_ that. I mean, I do, just usually not so quickly.” Then she ducked her head down again. “And oh God, I'm rambling.”

“I find that to be an endearing trait of yours these days,” he said, using a knuckle to lift her chin up.

“So I take it that trait annoyed you before?” she asked, moving her hand to let her fingers trace idle shapes on his chest.

“It had,” he said with a nod. “But I missed that while I was gone.” He moved his hand to tuck a strand of hair that had fallen in her face behind her ear. “I should have told you before. I was a coward for not telling you earlier.”

“But I could have told you how I felt too,” she said. “I'd given you no reason to think I still fancied you in the entire time we've been here. Things could have been very different if either of us had said something.” She paused for a moment. “What happened last night for you to change your mind?”

“When I came back you told me ten hours had passed. I realized how little time was left before we had to leave and confront the king. I didn't want any more time to go by without you knowing how I felt, in case the worst happened.”

“Well, I know now, so that's good,” she said. “And I feel the same way, which is even better.”

“Yes, it is,” he replied. “And we'll just have to make sure that when we get home we make the most of every moment.”

“What exactly happened last night?” she asked. “I mean, you're so sure you're going to be successful tonight, when you weren't yesterday. What changed?”

“The reason I was gone for ten hours was because I had found my way to the feast the queen has before the next woman is taken,” he said. “She gave me her blessing, along with the equipment I need to be evenly matched in this fight.” He lifted up the hand he'd slipped the ring on. “That's why I have this ring, and why I was carrying a case when I came back. It's my armor and sword.”

“There's going to be actual fighting?” she asked, a tinge of fear in her voice.

“Most likely,” he said. “But I've studied both fencing and swordsmanship before, and I have intimate knowledge of every trick the king knows. At the moment I also have an invulnerability to his illusion magic, so he has to fight more fairly.”

She was quiet for a moment, then lifted her hand off his chest and reached over to touch his face gently. “I'm still going to worry.”

“I have the advantage, I think,” he said. “But if you feel the need to worry then I won't stop you.”

“All right,” she said quietly as she nodded.

He went back to running a hand up and down her side. “I did see something at the feast last night that should please you greatly.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“Isabella was in the queen's court,” he said. “Being reunited with her daughter was her reward for helping me with everything, for preparing me for this battle.”

“That's good!” she said with a wide smile. “I'm glad she's there with her daughter and not with the king.” He nodded and then he looked at her intently for a moment. She frowned slightly in response. “Sherlock?”

“I will not allow you to be taken,” he said quietly. “When this is all over we'll go home and live whatever life we have ahead of us.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know more about what's going to happen when we get home than you're telling me, don't you?” she asked.

“I do,” he said after a moment.

“Tell me.”

“That long and happy life we live is with each other,” he said. “We get married and we leave London and we settle here. And Isabella said we have children, twin daughters and a son.”

“I approve of this future,” she said with a nod.

He sat up more and leaned over her. “I do too,” he murmured before kissing her. She returned the kiss eagerly, pulling him closer and laying down on the bed more. They only stopped kissing when the need to breathe became apparent. He looked down at her, seeing her smile up at him. “I promise I will make every moment count.”

She framed his face in her hands. “I will too,” she said. He leaned in and kissed her again, and things were just starting to get heated when there was a knock on the door. She gave him a puzzled look when he pulled away. “Who...?” she asked.

“When you're both decent there are some things you need to know,” the cofgada said from the other side of the door.

“I hope he doesn't do this when all of this is over,” she said with a sigh.

“I think when all of this is over we won't be able to interact with him anymore,” he replied, rolling back over. He sat up and then shifted to put his feet on the floor before standing up. He began to search for his pants and trousers as Molly went to her dresser for clean clothes. He found his clothing after a moment and quickly got dressed, not even bothering to tuck his shirt in. When Molly was ready they both went into the sitting room. The cofgada was sitting by the hearth, looking at them. “Do you want bread and milk?” he asked.

The cofgada nodded. “Yes.”

“I'll get it,” Molly said before heading towards the kitchen.

The cofgada watched her for a moment before he turned back to Sherlock. “I see the two of you finally acted on what was plainly apparent to everyone,” the cofgada said with a knowing smile.

“Yes, we did,” he replied, giving the cofgada a stern look.

“This can only be a good thing,” the cofgada said. “The king purposefully picks women who are alone in the world, who have no family who loves them and no lovers who would intervene on their behalf. He will not have counted on her having a man who is truly in love with her claim her the way you have.”

“So you're saying the other women were virgins?” he asked.

“No, at least not for the last few generations” he replied. “You told her you loved her. You told her you would do anything to keep her safe. And you swore it on your life. That is the claim you have laid on her.” He watched as the cofgada sat down on the hearth. “A vow like that is taken very seriously by the fair folk. The king will try very hard to make you pay with your life, but if something goes horribly awry and you do pay that ultimate price your vow will set Molly free.”

“I thought there were only two possible outcomes to this,” Sherlock said with a frown.

“The queen may have given you power and knowledge and invulnerability to the king's illusion magic but he can and will cheat. He will do whatever it takes to keep his hold over this village, up to and including taking your life. Just because the woman with the Sight only saw two futures does not mean they're set in stone.”

“So what do I need to do?” he asked.

“You have to be on your guard the moment you leave the safety of this property,” the cofgada said. “He'll try everything he can to avoid the fight and simply take Molly without hassle, and if he can't do that he'll do everything he can to win it.” Molly came out at that point with the slice of bread and the bowl of milk. “Thank you,” he said as he nodded towards Molly.

“You're welcome,” she said before moving to the sofa. After a moment Sherlock joined her. “Are we in danger?”

“William more than you but yes, you're both in danger.” The cofgada looked at Sherlock intently. “Hold the sword in your hand as you go to the clearing. As the midnight hour approaches the king will send those loyal to him to keep you from getting there. Once you get there it will be the queen's guards who will stand watch over Molly. No harm will come to her during the fight. The queen will make sure of it.”

“That will put me at ease,” Sherlock said with a nod.

The cofgada turned to Molly then. “Normally the king compels the woman he plans on taking to go to the field, but the amulet you're wearing has just enough power left to fight a compulsion. You'll have the full measure of your will even when you leave the property. Because he cannot compel you to the clearing where the court of the fair folk are gathered he will begrudgingly lead you there by other means. But do not get separated, whatever you do. The moment that happens he will take send William on a wild goose chase, and you will be lost to him for good.”

“Is there anything else we need to know?” Molly asked.

“There will be no gown laid upon your bed as there were with the other women, but the king will be most displeased if you are not appropriately attired. Wear a dress that would be considered fancy.”

“I don't think I have one here,” she said with a frown.

“I believe your mother had something she did her spell work in that was simple yet elegant. That should suffice for tonight. I will lay it out on your bed for you.” He was quiet a moment. “And take care with your appearance. Use your looks to distract the king. The more beautiful you look the more he will want you and the less clearly he will think. But whatever you do, do _not_ take the amulet off. He'll be able to compel you and I can guarantee he'll use you against William.”

“How should I be attired?” Sherlock asked.

“Dress every bit as sharply as you can,” he replied. “And carry your stately manner about you. But don't be arrogant. He will react poorly to that.” The cofgada picked up the bread and tore off a chunk before waving it at them. “I'm sure there are things you would much rather be doing at the moment. Go do them while you can. And remember, leave this home by the time the clock strikes eleven.” With that he dipped his bread into the bowl and began to eat.

“I think we should take that as the dismissal it was,” Sherlock said to Molly, standing up. Molly stood as well and offered him her hand, which he grasped. “Where should we go?”

“Your bedroom,” she said. “I don't think I want to be in my bedroom when the dress is brought to me.”

He nodded and they made their way to the bedroom he was using. He opened the door and they made their way to the bed. Molly went to the farther side and laid down on it, and he joined her after a moment, gathering her close. “It's only four,” he said. “We have quite a bit of time before we need to go.”

“But not enough,” she said, putting an arm across his waist before setting her head on his chest. “I just want to stay here with you and ignore the world.”

“Sadly we can't do that,” he said. “But that is what I would prefer to do, too.”

“I need about an hour or so to get ready,” she said. “If I have to look enticing I need time to do that.”

“What do you want to do until then?” he asked.

“Kiss you for a while, then see where that leads,” she said as she lifted her head up and looked at him. He nodded and moved his hand to make it easier to shift positions. He set his hand on the nightstand as he sat up more and his fingers grazed the green leather book. They warmed and then he could see every page in the book, but it was different. He sat up more and let go of Molly to pick up the book. “Sherlock?” she asked, slightly confused.

“It's full of spells,” he said, opening the book. When he looked at the pages he no longer saw the unsolvable riddles but spell after spell, with the counterspells laid out underneath. “I imagine that it's protected by a spell itself. If you are able to see its true contents it's full of spells known only to the royal court of the fair folk.” He turned to Molly. “With these spells I can counter anything he can throw at me. He's not immune to the effects of these spells. With these I can hurt him.”

“So you really might win?” she asked hopefully. He nodded and she smiled. “That makes me feel so much better. Do you need to study it?”

He shook his head. “I need time to sort through the information, though.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No. I want to keep you as close as I can,” he said, lying back down. She settled back into her previous position and he held her close as he examined each spell and counterspell. For such a small book there was quite a bit of information to process, and he wanted to be intimately acquainted with all of them. He finished four hours later and looked down to see Molly sleeping. He didn't want to wake her up so he laid still, burning the feel of her next to him in his mind. He was careful not to fall asleep himself, and the next time he checked his watch he saw it was nine thirty. He nudged her awake at that point. “It's time for you to get ready,” he said when she lifted her head up to look at him.

“Why did you let me sleep?” she asked, sitting up.

“You appeared to need the rest,” he replied.

“But I wanted to spend time with you.”

“We'll have time when this is over,” he said. “Go look your best. I need to do the same.”

She nodded, then leaned over and kissed him softly. She may have intended the kiss to be brief but he kept her close, kissing her until he absolutely had to stop. She was slightly breathless when they were done. “When this is all over promise me you'll kiss me like that as often as you can,” she said quietly.

“I promise,” he said with a nod. She pulled away at that point and got off the bed before moving towards the door. He watched her leave and after lingering in the bed for a few moments he got up and began to get ready himself. He put on one of his suits, the sharpest one he had, and when he was done he picked up the book and went to the sitting to wait.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there when he heard Molly clear her throat. He looked up at her, slightly stunned. She had on a sleeveless white dress with an empire waist that came down to her ankles. It appeared to be made out of raw silk. There was a patterned shawl draped on her upper arms, white and silver, and it was held in place with a silver pin. She had curled her hair and pulled it all to the side, letting it spill over one shoulder. She had secured it there with a jeweled comb. She had on some make-up, more than she had worn since they arrived, but she didn't look overly made up. “Well?” she asked uncertainly.

“I do not think he will be displeased,” he replied.

“What do you think about how I look? I mean, what's your opinion?”

“I think you look lovely,” he said. “Better than you did the last time I saw you dressed up.”

She blushed slightly at his compliment. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at him.

He looked out the window and saw the moon was high in the sky. Then he checked his watch and saw it was nearly eleven. “We should start walking now. I want to get there as quickly as possible.” He went and got his coat and slipped it on, putting the book in his pocket before going to the case. He opened it up, looking at the sword. It was a silver sword and had an ornately carved handle, accented with gold. There were carvings on the blade in a language he didn't understand. He expected it to be heavy when he picked it up since he assumed the magic of the case had kept it light but it stayed feather light. “We should go,” he said, turning to Molly.

She nodded and reached over for his hand. He grasped it tightly and they made their way to the rear of her cottage. They walked down the path by the pond and walked past that to the edge of her property. Just on the other side of the property line there was a red light similar to the blue ones that had guided him back to Molly's home, though this one resembled a ball of fire. “We have to follow that?” she asked, looking at him.

He nodded. “That will lead us to the clearing.”

She turned back to what was in front of them. Even though the moon was in the sky it was a waning crescent moon and did not give much light. “What if we can't see where we're going?”

“I can fix that,” he said.

“With magic?” she asked.

He grinned at her and shook her head. “No. With a pocket torch.” He let go of her hand and got it out of his coat pocket before handing it to her. She turned it on and shined it in front of them. Then she grasped his hand again and they stepped over the property line together. It was significantly colder on the other side of her property, and he could see her shiver as they followed the light towards where they needed to go. “I imagine it will be warm when we get there,” he said. “But for now I might be able to do something.” He stopped for a moment and then murmured one of the simpler spells Isabella had shown him how to do, and after a moment he saw Molly smile as the air around them grew warmer. “Better?”

“Much,” she said. “What did you do?”

“I used a spell to attract warm air towards us,” he said. “It will keep us comfortable until we get to our destination.” He took a step again and she followed, and soon they were following the orb again. One of the first spells he had practiced casting was the ability to see better in the dark, and even with the darkness surrounding everything except the light from the torch he could plainly see things moving alongside them. He could see Black Annis, with her blue face and iron claws, looming just in front of them. He could see malevolent looking dwarves and grotesque ogres looking for any way to get to them, waiting for them to separate. He could see dancing lights to the side, ready to lead them to danger, and there was the distinct sounds of chains being rattled and creatures howling and moaning and growling.

“I wish they would stop,” Molly said quietly after a particularly bloodcurdling howl.

“They're trying to separate us,” he said, tightening his hold on her hand. “They will stop when we get to the clearing.”

“Can you try something to make them go away?” she asked.

He thought for a moment and then stopped. He decided it was time to show he had power. He looked for the correct spell and then cast it, and a bright ball of light went up into the sky, making the area seem as though it was lit by the sun. The creatures recoiled from the bright light. He lifted up the sword in his hand and then spoke. “If you don't leave us be I won't hesitate to hurt you,” he said coldly. “Would you rather die at my hand or live another day?”

After a moment he saw the creatures begin to recede further back into the shadow, and he noises were greatly lessened. Molly leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. “Thank you,” she said.

He nodded and then squeezed her hand. “Let's get there quickly in case they change their mind,” he said as the light from the spell he had cast dimmed.

She squeezed his hand back as they began to walk again. A short time later they found themselves approaching the same clearing he had been to when he stumbled upon the queen's feast, though this time it looked different. There was a larger group of fair folk there, flanked next to and on either side of two stately thrones. Sitting on the left throne was the queen, and the women who had been taken from the village were to her side. Sitting on the right was the king. He was tall with long blonde hair, and he was obviously glaring at Sherlock as they approached. “So you are the human my queen thinks will break my hold on this village,” he said, his voice deep and compelling.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“How interesting,” he said, sneering slightly. Then he turned to Molly and gave her a more approving look. “You will be a fine addition to my court.” Molly instinctively moved closer to Sherlock after the king spoke. “In time you will forget about the human.”

“You act as though you already have her,” Sherlock said. “It isn't a done deal yet, and I'm going to make sure that when November 1st arrives Molly is still with me and this never happens again.”

He laughed a derisive laugh, then stepped down from his throne. “How boastful you are,” he said as he came closer. “Even with the queen's favour do you honestly think you will best me? Do you really think you can save this woman and free this village?”

“Yes, I do,” Sherlock said, straightening up as the king advanced on him.

“How quaint,” he said. The king stopped directly in front of Sherlock. They were exactly the same height, and the king looked him directly in the eyes. “Prove it. Best me in combat and I will free the woman and the village. Lose and I will take her and make you regret the day you decided to challenge me.”

“Do you swear to that?” Sherlock asked.

The king nodded. “Yes. That is my oath.” Then he turned to the queen's guards and nodded. “Take her.”

As they advanced Molly let go of Sherlock's hand and framed his face instead, kissing him. She pulled away as the guards got there. “For luck,” she said softly.

He nodded as she was led away to the queen's side of the clearing. The king made a sweeping motion with his hands and soon he was encased from his neck to the soles of his feet in a golden armor. Sherlock did the same thing and he could feel the armor go over his clothing. He realized that his clothing had thinned and was providing the padding between his skin at the armor. Even though he had been wearing a coat he found that he had no limitations of movement. The king held out his hand and a golden broadsword shimmered into existence. It was certainly larger than his own sword and for a moment he was worried. But the king didn't give him time to dwell on it. “So” the king said. “Let us begin.” And with that he took the first swing, putting Sherlock on the defensive.

Sherlock blocked his swing as the king cast one of the spells, trying to blind him, but Sherlock was able to say the counterspell quickly. Then he struck at the king and the king stumbled backward. Sherlock realized he must have shocked him. “Discovered something interesting?” Sherlock asked.

“No human should know that spell,” he replied.

“Well, I do,” Sherlock said. Suddenly he felt the ground rise up beneath his feet at an angle as the king levitated, and it was all he could do for a moment not to fall backward. After a moment he gained his footing and cast a spell to engulf the king in darkness. While the king was momentarily distracted he dropped to the ground, landing on his feet. Sherlock leaped down to level ground, swinging at the king, but the king recovered quickly and blocked the swing. The king motioned with his hand and Sherlock found himself immobile. The king made to thrust his sword at him but Sherlock cast the counterspell and found himself able to doge just in time.

“Sherlock!” Molly yelled, and he risked a brief glance to see she was watching with wide eyes.

The king stopped his advancement and turned towards her, and Sherlock could see just from the side of his face he looked absolutely livid. “I will have no interference!” he bellowed.

Sherlock used the distraction to advance on him, and he swung his sword at the king's back, connecting with it and causing him to stumble. Then Sherlock cast a spell to heat up the king's armor and sword. The king countered it quickly and then cast a spell to cause Sherlock to feel as though he was off balance. The king swung at him as Sherlock cast the counterspell but the sword clashed against his armor and he stumbled.

Quickly Sherlock cast a defensive spell as opposed to an offensive one, hardening the air around him. The king swung again but the sword stopped before it got close to Sherlock. He swung again but it still had no effect. The king tried a third time before he began to look angry again. “What magic is this?” he asked.

Sherlock looked at him incredulously. “Basic defensive magic,” he said.

“You're cheating,” the king said between gritted teeth.

“All magic is fair magic,” the queen said from her position to the side.

The king changed the position of his sword and tried to thrust it at Sherlock's abdomen, attempting to run him through. The sword deflected off the hardened air. Sherlock shifted the spell slightly, hardening the air around his fist, and as the king stumbled Sherlock moved close enough to punch him in the face when he straightened up. The king fell down to the ground and looked up at Sherlock in shock. “You should have worn a helmet,” Sherlock said, pointing the tip of his sword at the king's throat. “Do you yield?”

The king glared at him and then motioned with his hand, causing Sherlock's sword to fly out of his grip. The king stood up and pointed his own sword at the unarmed Sherlock. “Never,” he said coldly.

Sherlock heard movement on the queen's side as he got backed up towards the thrones and then suddenly Molly was there in front of him, brandishing Sherlock's sword uncertainly. “Stop moving,” she said towards the king. “If you plan on killing him you'll have to kill me to get to him.”

The king stopped, looking at both of them. “You would forfeit your life for him?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “I won't let you harm him.”

He lowered his sword as he stared at her. “Why?”

“Because I love him. I refuse to live a life without him, and if you try and make that happen, either by killing him or taking me, I will make you regret it.” She glared at him. “I swear on my life I will make you regret ever choosing to take me.”

“She has spoken truly,” the queen said from her throne. “I do not doubt for a second she will make your life truly miserable. She has a will of iron underneath her soft demeanor. Yield, and keep your dignity.”

“I will not yield,” the king said towards his queen. “He did not best me in combat.”

The queen got off her throne and came towards them. “You _will_ yield,” she said. “You will yield and you will give up your claim on both the woman and the village.”

“I will _not_ ,” he said, raising himself up.

“You had the chance to keep your dignity,” the queen said before making a motion with her hand. Suddenly the king was being bound by fine silver chains from ankle to neck. “He bested you in combat. You decided not to yield, but by all known rules he bested you in combat. You have broken your oath, and by doing so you have forfeited your right to rule.” She stepped closer to her husband. “And as you know, all oathbreakers are dealt with most harshly. Even a king is subject to the punishment.”

The king looked at her with panic in his eyes. “Relent,” he said pleadingly.

The queen tilted her head. “You will relinquish your claim on the woman and the village. And you will relinquish your right to rule, and spend the rest of eternity living in shame for your actions. Do these things and you will escape punishment as an oathbreaker. This is my oath, and I have enough honour to keep it.”

The king looked at her for a long moment and then bowed his head. “I relinquish the woman and the village and my right to rule,” he said quietly.

The queen made another motion with her hands and the chains binding the king disappeared. Then she nodded to her guards, who came forward and roughly grabbed the king by his upper arms. Finally the queen turned to the assembled fair folk. “The hour is nearly come for us to leave. Return to where you came from. I rule you now and issue the decree.” Slowly the assembled fair folk began to shimmer and disappear, leaving only the queen and the women who had been taken before. She turned to Sherlock and made a motion with her hand. His armor went away, and after a moment he tugged the ring off his finger, putting it in the palm of his hand and holding it out to her. She took it and clasped her hand around it. “You have more than exceeded my expectations, William,” she said with a smile.

“I'm glad,” he said with a nod.

Molly went to hand her the sword but she shook her head. “This is his to keep, as a token of my appreciation.”

“Thank you,” he said.

The queen turned to the women behind her. “I believe there is someone who wishes to say farewell to both of you.”

Isabella stepped forward and went to Molly, her arms open wide. “You were so brave,” she said as she enveloped Molly in a hug.

“I was so scared,” she said, carefully embracing her back. They stayed that way for a few moments before Molly pulled away. “Are you really happy there?”

“I am,” Isabella said with a smile. “I will be with my daughter and my cousin for all time.” She chuckled at the surprised looks on both their faces. “My cousin bargained her Sight and her freedom for the books I left in your home, Molly. She has been with the queen ever since.” Then she reached over and patted Molly's cheek. “We will be treated well, so don't feel sad for us. Feel happy.”

“I will,” she said with a nod, blinking back tears.

Then Isabella turned to Sherlock. “You did quite well, William,” she said with an approving nod.

“I'm just glad I was successful,” he said, reaching over for Molly's hand.

“And I am glad the better future is what awaits the two of you,” she said. She came forward and embraced him. After a moment he let go of Molly's hand and did the same in return. “I would hurry with the wedding if I were you,” she said quietly.

“Why?” he murmured.

“Because in about nine months you're going to have your hands full,” she said. She pulled away and gave him a wide smile before chuckling at his wide eyes. “Take care of each other.”

“We will,” Molly said, moving over to Sherlock and putting an arm around his waist. “Good-bye, Isabella.”

“Good-bye,” she replied as Sherlock settled his arm across Molly's shoulders. Isabella stepped back to the women and after a moment the shimmered and were gone as well, leaving only the queen.

“I will light your way home for you,” she said, gesturing for them to turn around. They did and saw two blue orbs. “Go, and live a fulfilling life.”

“Thank--” Molly began as she turned around, but the field was dark and empty. Then she turned to Sherlock. “That's strange.”

“I think it's just their way,' he said before looking down at her. “Do you have the torch?”

Her eyes widened. “I dropped it when I went to you.”

He thought for a moment, looking through the spells in his head. Already the spells from the leather book and most of the information the queen had given him was gone, locked up somewhere he couldn't access. But the spells he had learned from Isabella and her books were still there, and he focused for a moment until a large ball of light hovered above their heads, illuminating the area in front of them but not obscuring the blue orbs. “There,” he said.

“You knowing magic is going to come in handy sometimes,” she said with a smile.

“I suppose it can be useful,” he said with a grin of his own. Then he reached over and grasped her hand. “Let's go home.”

“All right,” she said, squeezing it once. They began to make their way out of the clearing and back towards her home, and he thought to himself that all of this had been for the best. The village was safe, Isabella was reunited with her family and now he and Molly had a bright future ahead of them. It had all had the best possible outcome, and for that he was happier than he had ever been before.


	14. Chapter 14

  
**Ten Months Later**   


So much had changed in the last ten months, Sherlock thought to himself as he opened the door to his and Molly's home. So many positive changes had happened, so many things indicative of the bright future that he and Molly had ahead of them. And as he looked into the cottage he had found he loved just as much as Molly did, he thought back to the various things that had happened to the both of them since the defeat of the king. 

There had been a terse confrontation between Molly and Emily two days into the new month when Emily found out Molly was still alive. Thankfully it had been done in the privacy of Molly's home, and this time Molly showed she had a backbone of steel. Emily had lost her chance at the promotion she had so desperately wanted, and other things in her life weren't going right so she blamed Isabella for that, cursing her name. Emily tried to convince her sister to give up their home, and then she tried to convince Molly to sell her Isabella's home, but Molly steadfastly refused. The names Emily called Molly were ugly, but Molly held her head high and eventually told her sister she was no longer welcome in any of her homes and that unless Emily changed her attitude she wanted nothing to do with her. Sherlock had watched Emily stand up and leave in a huff, and he was there for Molly once her sister left. Molly didn't cry, but she did ask Sherlock to hold her close for quite a few hours later.

The state of Sherlock and Molly's relationship had come to a shock to everyone they knew when they did return home a week into November. Or rather, the depths of their feelings for each other surprised them. All their friends knew was that three weeks prior they'd gone to Molly's childhood home as just friends and come back using the word love to describe their relationship. It got even more confusing for their friends when Sherlock moved in with Molly mere days after their return, and then there was the fact that a month and a half after they came back Molly found out she was pregnant. They were all pleased, of course, but it was slightly confusing. And the fact the two of them wouldn't really talk about what happened in the four weeks they were gone just added to the mystery. It was very obvious that they were both ecstatically happy with everything that had gone on, and soon enough their friends had stopped trying to figure out why their relationship had changed so dramatically and they shared in the joy the two of them had. They also all approved of the personality changes in Sherlock. He smiled more, laughed more, made it a point to be a better friend to all of his friends. He was a good man, someone well worth knowing, and that was the best thing that could have come from all this according to those who knew him best.

They had gotten married when Molly was three months pregnant. At that point their friends hadn't been surprised by any aspect of their relationship and had helped plan for the rushed wedding. Molly had worn the same dress she had worn to meet the king of the fair folk, though she had embellishments added to it. Sherlock had been pleased she had chosen that dress, because that dress represented the most important day of his life so far. The wedding had been a joyous affair, and when they said their vows they had both had the widest smiles on their faces because they knew that these vows were just repetitions of more important ones they had made earlier.

They began to make plans to leave London and go back to Molly's home as soon after she gave birth as they could. They had decided to redecorate the home to make it their own, but especially leaving their own mark on her parent's bedroom. That had been a day where she had been pensive, but he was there for her, holding her close as they got the furniture out and repainted the room. He had suggested they keep her mother's desk in the room and Molly had been so pleased by that that he knew it had been the best suggestion to make. It took time to get the bedroom to be theirs, and by that point they found out they were having the twins first so they began working on turning Molly's old bedroom into their room since it was bigger. Molly had taken a particular joy in decorating it, making it a room that was cozy and warm, a room two little girls would want to stay in as they grew up. They debated decorating their son's room as well but Sherlock pointed out they didn't know when they would be having him so it would be best to wait.

The pregnancy had gone smoothly, and Sherlock had admired every change in Molly, except the occasional mood swings. Those he had not been particularly fond of. But he marveled at how her body changed, and he would often place a hand on her abdomen, waiting for one of his daughters to move. He talked to them often, telling them stories that he had absorbed that he thought they might enjoy. He cheated a little and would use some of his magic to make sure they understood what he was saying or so he could get a better view of them at times, and when he did that Molly would give him a fond smile and ask if they enjoyed the story or if they were looking well.

When Molly went into labor they were still in London, and she was calmer about it than he was. Her labor was relatively quick, only lasting four hours, but in the end they were the parents to a set of identical twins. Isabella had left instructions in her will for them not to name one of their daughters after her, but Molly didn't want to entirely avoid naming one of the girls Isabella or her mother, so their oldest daughter was Charlotte Isabella Holmes and their younger daughter was Evelyn Norma Holmes. She promised Sherlock that if they didn't decide to name their son after him he'd get more say in naming their child, but since he approved of his daughters names he told her it was fine.

Now they were moving into their home in Earls Barton, and he could tell Molly was excited. He had been there to supervise the last of the redecorating when Molly had started to find long travel uncomfortable six months into her pregnancy, and as such she hadn't seen the redecorated sitting room, kitchen or dining area yet. He came in carrying Charlotte with Molly and Evelyn right behind them, and when they got towards the sitting room she stared at it with wide eyes. “Oh, Sherlock, it looks so lovely,” she said with a smile, taking a good look at it.

“Well, you picked out the furniture and the wall colors. All I did was supervise where all the furniture went.” He nodded towards the girls’ bedroom. “We should set them down before they wake up. They were asleep the entire drive up here and knowing our luck they'll wake up sooner than we'd like. Then I can show you the rest.”

She nodded. “That sounds like a good idea.” They took their daughters into the bedroom they would share and set each daughter in a crib to continue to sleep. They had remarkably well behaved daughters so far, and parenting them had been a lot easier than they had expected. This wasn't to say it wasn't hard work, but it was much easier than it should have been. Molly lingered over Evelyn's crib for a moment, running her fingers through her daughter's curly hair. The girls definitely took after their mother in looks, which had made both of them happy, but they got their father's dark curly hair. He knew she wanted them to have his hair and his eyes and he did admit to her that he may have attempted to influence them to keep them. She had laughed at that and said she hoped it worked.

“We can stay here with them for a bit, if you want,” he said, moving to stand behind her.

She shook her head. “No, it's all right. I want to get a better look at everything.”

“All right,” he replied. They pulled away from the crib and then made their way back out to the sitting room. She moved to touch the books that were on the shelves. Most of these were hers and Sherlock's, but there were a few that had been left to them from Isabella. She picked one up and ran her fingers over the leather cover. “Most of Isabella's books are in our bedroom, on the shelves in there. I thought it best if they weren't in plain view all the time.”

“That was a very good idea,” she said with a nod. “How did it look the last time you were there?”

“Much the same as it always has, I suppose. Just emptier.” He paused. “Apparently I still have the ability to converse with plants so I was able to get the ones we transplanted into our backyard not to wither and die. They've apparently been well tended.”

“You did it all yourself?” she asked, looking at him with surprise.

“I may have cheated slightly,” he admitted. “At least for the older trees. Hopefully the spirits attached to them come over too. I wasn't able to speak with them directly but I did make my intentions known as best I could.”

“Does her backyard look a mess?” she asked with a smile.

“No. There were seeds left for me on the kitchen table the day I was transferring over the plants and trees. At least a hundred of them, I think. I planted them and then coaxed them to grow quickly. The backyard looks quite lush now.”

“Is the backyard still enchanted?”

He shook his head. “When everything was done I removed the spell. I didn't think the new tenants would be prepared for that.”

“That was best, I suppose.” She set the book down and moved to the sofa, looking at it. “It's going to be strange knowing it will belong to someone else soon.”

“I know.” He watched her come over to him and then nodded towards the kitchen. “Would you like to see the kitchen?”

“I would,” she said. They made their way there and her smile widened. “It looks bigger. Did you cheat with this, too?”

“Surprisingly, no,” he said with a chuckle. “When we decided to renovate and update it the contractors had some ideas on where to move things to make it seem bigger, even with the larger appliances. That was why it took so long to finish, because there was rewiring and things like that. But this is all brand new.”

“It looks like my kitchen at my old home,” she said, running her hand along the counter. “Thank you for that. I was quite attached to my kitchen.”

“Well, I thought that would be a pleasant surprise,” he said. Then he pointed to the table. “The dining area was repainted and we have a table that will accommodate six people. That was actually built by hand by one of the people in the village for us, so it will last a long time.”

“It's gorgeous,” she said, moving closer to it. “I hadn't expected it all to look as nice as this, since I wasn't there to pick any of it out, but I'm quite pleased with it all. I think this will be a great home for us.”

“I want to show you the backyard,” he said. “I think you'll enjoy it.”

She moved over to the rear of the cottage and opened the door and then took a step outside. Her eyes were wide as she took it all in. There were more trees, for a start, and more plants and flowers all around the property. “How many plants did you bring over?” she asked, turning to him.

“Isabella's entire garden, and most of the trees,” he said. “There are also more trees on the sides of the path to get to the pond.”

“It's so beautiful out here,” she said, stepping into the garden more. Then she looked at the large oak tree and squealed in delight. “You finished the tree house my father started building!”

“That was something where I most definitely cheated,” he said. “I don't think it's quite what your father had planned. It's larger, for a start. But not only is it finished it's got wards of its own to keep our children and any guests they might have from falling out of the tree and getting hurt, among other things.” Then he pointed nearby it. “There is also a play structure for them. That I had very little to do with. I had left stacks of wood for the tree house overnight and I found the wooden part finished the next morning. I just got the swings and the rope ladder and the fireman's pole for it.”

“Who do you think did it?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“The cofgada, perhaps,” he said. “He would be strong enough. Perhaps he gave it to us as a gift. Either way, they'll have a place to explore and be children here.”

“This is going to be a wonderful place for them to grow up,” she said, moving over to him and slipping an arm around his waist. He put his arm around her shoulders in response. “The entire home is absolutely perfect.”

“That was what I had hoped to hear,” he said. “I want to be here with my family for a very long time.”

“I definitely approve of that,” she said. “Mostly because I want the same thing.”

They stood there for a moment before he turned towards the house again. “I think our daughters are about to wake up.”

“This ability you have to get to them before they start crying is amazing,” she said with a chuckle. “I almost wish I had it.”

“I can do that for you, if you'd like,” he said after a moment's thought.

“Oh, but then you wouldn't let me sleep while you take care of them,” she said with a smile as they let go of each other. “I think I'll keep things just like they are.”

“As you wish,” he said with a grin.

She paused, and then leaned in and kissed him softly. He pulled her close and deepened the kiss, fulfilling his promise once again to kiss her until she was breathless. When they finally pulled apart she looked up at him, her eyes bright. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you too,” he said. She turned then and he followed her into their home, feeling immeasurably happy with his lot in life. He had the woman he loved, children he adored, and a home where they could share happy memories from now until the end of their lives. Once again he was thankful that he had won the battle with the king, because this future was the best reward he could have gotten.


End file.
